


Expatriate

by sehn_sucht



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Drama, Angst and Romance, Arkanis (Star Wars), Armitage Hux Has Issues, Ben Solo Lives, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks to Hux's Youth, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No one dies AU, OCs galore, Past Child Abuse, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey Skywalker, Slow Burn, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoilers, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 174,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehn_sucht/pseuds/sehn_sucht
Summary: Instead of being executed for treason, Armitage Hux is sent to exile on Arkanis for the remainder of his natural life. Hux is forced to resettle on his family's estate and live out his life of isolation. As he reflects on his life, a man assumed to be dead returns. Ben Solo has survived against all odds and has come to make peace with his past enemy. As the two men begin to coexist in a fragile truce, new discoveries come to life and they begin to question what to do when the lives they once knew are shattered and gone.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 90
Kudos: 300





	1. Chapter 1

The Hux Estate was not what one would call sprawling. Rather, one would not call the building itself sprawling upon exterior glance. It was rather compact despite containing a multitude of rooms. One could not lose themselves in there; rather, one could acquaint themselves with the layout in under a day. The record time was three hours and it was by a little boy who should not have even called the building home. It resided on a great green lawn that was bordered by a dense forest to the north. The lawn was partly bisected by gravel drive for the express purpose of speeders or other guest vehicles.

In total, the grounds contained fifty-six acres of forest, lawn, and a natural lake to the south which separated the estate from further dense forest. When Brendol Hux had inherited the estate in his thirtieth year of human life, he had seen to the construction of a serpentine lake to the southwest. His wife had rather enjoyed the addition though she only cared to view it from the expansive window of her second floor private sitting room.

Of the layout, it is as such. When one enters the stone steps and onto the stone porch, they enter through a large door into the great hall. There is a fireplace that is large enough to heat the hall and half of the rooms to the right and the left. In the great hall are two lounging couches as well as a table. When the former head of the estate resided planet-side, he and his wife would host various parties and gatherings to recruit support for his Academy programs.

To the left of the great hall was the ballroom. It stretched from the north of the building facing the front lawn to the south facing the south lawn and serpentine lake and dense forests. It was more rectangle in shape but enough to hold three hundred individuals. In addition to these three hundred individuals, there would be droids or other servants to serve refreshments. These gatherings were rare and when they did occur, they were political in nature rather than for pure entertainment.

To the right of the great hall was a hallway that led to the first of two large libraries. It contained histories of various galactic events, research, and philosophies. There were various furniture pieces for sitting whilst reading as well as a desk facing the window. This window looked out over the forests to the east. There, too, was a fireplace. There were fireplaces in many of the rooms of the estate as the Arkanisian rain and weather caused the stone building to become rather damp and cold. One would catch their death if it were not for the constant attention to heat. Droids were programmed to keep the fires going all hours of the day with heat levels monitored to ensure it was neither too hot nor too cold. Chimneys consolidated the fumes to travel up and out of the building, keeping the occupants in good health.

Now there was also a stone staircase in the great hall that led up to the second floor. The second floor contained a second library which was similar to the first, two private studies as well as three bedrooms and private baths adorning the rooms. On the third floor, under the roof, were another study, private bath, and bedroom. This bedroom had formally been a nursery. Rarely was anyone allowed upstairs to the nursery when the occupant of said nursery resided there. Only droids with the specific tech designed for the needs of infants were permitted there. Rarely did the father of the infant visit. 

In the bottom level of the estate, in what one would consider a basement, were the kitchens. Long, winding hallways led to the kitchens that bustled whether or not guests came to call. A team would work for hours to provide meals at the ready, at the master’s command. Meats, stews, other meals were regularly prepared for the family while servants were satisfied with meager portions. Those who worked in the kitchens stayed in a single room with bunks for beds. They were expected to be on-call twenty-four standard Arkanisian hours a day. If the master of the estate needed them, they were expected to be prepared and to obey.

Four other rooms littered the bottom level but were off-limits to everyone besides the master of the manor. Rumors abound that if a servant was brought down, they would not return. If they did, they were severely changed.

The grounds to the south of the estate were expansive. As stated before, the estate was settled on fifty-six acres of land. Starting at the south entrance, one descended the stone porch onto the green grass. Walking down the gravel path for three-quarters of a mile, the serpentine lake would be reached. Just past the lake was the path into the woods that had been groomed. The walking path led through the dense acres of forest. At the edge of the property was the larger lake. Beyond the lake was more forest that was not touched and considered wild. 

For the east and west of the property was more forest and vines that adorned the trees. Those would typically have to be hacked to prevent the massive trees from dying or falling onto the more manicured property. A house for servants had been constructed at the time the estate had been. That had been generations ago, before Brendol Hux had even been thought of. Human servants were rare once droids had been suggested, but the few lived in the Servant House near the edge of the north woods. It was a stone building as well that was made to room ten. Those quarters were not up to the comfortable standards of the main estate but they were not unbearable living quarters.

The wife of Brendol Hux, Maratelle, had furnished the estate to her standards. Rich reds, greens, and even purples off-set the depressive greys and blues of the Arkanisian environment. Golds, too, were sewn in with rugs and tapestries. Flowers were ordered and art adorned the walls and decorative spaces. Each space was decorated to Maratelle’s care and eye for design while still commanding respectability that Brendol was known for. The only space that was neglected was the nursery on the third floor of the estate. And as the infant grew to a boy, the only difference in design was the change from crib to single bed. A pram was to be kept out of sight of the mistress and master and to be manned by droids. Seldom was a human servant allowed to view the infant except for the wet nurse. Even she had been dismissed when the child was old enough to consume more than human breastmilk. 

The child in question was not Maratelle Hux’s biological child. Quite the opposite.

The mother’s name was not repeated after the discovery of her pregnancy, for the mistress’s sake. Rumors had surfaced that, even after a decade of marriage, Mistress Hux was unable to conceive a child. Perhaps that was why the pregnancy was permitted to continue and the mother was not punished. She was moved to the third floor of the estate and was seldom seen once her belly had begun to swell. Records of the pregnancy were either not taken or had been lost. Once the child was born, the mother was no longer seen. Her name was forbidden from being spoken. No one questioned her fate.

The child had been born a boy. He was named by his father and his care was directed by his father. A wet nurse had been provided, as stated before, but was replaced by droids and a singular human nurse when the boy was old enough to be fed solid food. Brendol Hux visited the boy in thirds. That is, at the third month of life, sixth month of life, ninth month, and so on. His first birthday was not celebrated nor acknowledged. The boy’s name was not spoken in casual conversation.

When the boy was four years of age, his father began to see to his military training. He lived a majority of his time at the Arkanis Academy from then on, only returning to the estate upon his father’s orders. He was to never see his father’s lawful wife and was told frequently of his illegitimate status. It was due to that illegitimate status, many of the staff thought, that the boy was not spared from his father’s physical discipline. Of course it was rarely dispensed in public. But even the droids who had been programmed to see to his well-being noticed the bruises, discoloration of the skin, and broken limbs when they inevitably occurred. 

It was in the boy’s fifth year of life that he was taken off-world with his father. He would not return to Arkanis for thirty years.

Twenty-five years after Master Brendol Hux and his son left Arkanis, Maratelle Hux was informed of her husband’s sudden death. It was swiftly followed by notice that she was no longer entitled to the properties of her late husband. All properties had been given to her husband’s biological child. The mistress fought the notice but was swiftly convinced to abandon the estate. She was never heard from again.

The large estate had only been used for lavish parties and seldom did anyone actively stay there. After Brendol Hux’s death and Maratelle’s banishment from the grounds, many servants left. Even those who lived in the small servant's cottage on the outskirt of the property had left. They had no master to receive command from. It was left to be tended by droids for half a decade more until the prodigal son returned.

* * *

Armitage Hux had been lucky from the moment of conception.

Had he been a girl, perhaps he would have been cast aside and forgotten. Instead, he had been born the correct sex to the correct father and at the correct time. He had been lucky to receive the finest training and studies a boy of his unfortunate circumstances could have access to. He was lucky to meet individuals such as Rae Sloane and Gallius Rax, who influenced his career. It was certainly lucky that Phasma had agreed to kill his father and cement Hux’s rise through the ranks to general. Armitage Hux had been a lucky soul indeed to survive this long.

Perhaps his luck had begun to fade when Kylo Ren entered the First Order. Perhaps it had been when the scavenger girl had interfered with their plans. Hux found his composure and his patience start to fade with each misstep and each catastrophe. It was this final step in the wrong direction that broke the general. The First Order was not the organization he had seen at its birth. It was no longer his. Kylo Ren had perverted it with his own selfish desires. He had forced it from Hux’s control and implemented new leadership that would follow his sycophantic desires. 

Who could blame him for abandoning this cause? It was no longer his own. Hux was simply waiting for Ren to dispose of him. He truly had always dreamed of killing him. Hux would keep those thoughts tucked in the back of his head in case Ren ever chose to probe his thoughts like the general knew he was capable of doing. It would be weak of him to willingly admit that the months of failure had broken his sanity. A growing desperation clouded his mind as he sought out communications with the Resistance. It wasn’t something he was proud of but he had run out of allies. It wasn’t like before; there was no Rae Sloane to protect him any longer. The entire High Command was full of Old Empire sycophants and leaders who would rather lick Kylo Ren’s boots than give a bastard the support the Order needed to survive this catastrophe. 

Armitage had known being caught would lead to his death. Part of himself accepted it on the condition that it be honorable. He wouldn’t be shot and left to bleed out on the bridge of his ship like some dog. Armitage Hux would die a general’s death; stood against a wall and shot through the head. At least he would die with the satisfaction that Kylo Ren would lose. In death, Hux would be the victor and triumph over the true traitor.

When he had been brought before Pryde, after the Resistance rebels had fled, Armitage knew in his core that the old man suspected his betrayal. Despite his injury, he could sense that his father’s old friend did not believe a word he said. It became evident in the general’s speaking tone that he had been caught. Enric Pryde had been a friend of Maratelle and Brendol’s since the two elder men had served together. There was no respect between them.

The blaster shot had been aimed at his chest, but Pryde’s shaking hands caused the bolt to sink into his shoulder instead. 

In truth, Armitage wished Pryde had killed given him the honor of execution.

Luck had been on his side. Luck had spared his life. But luck would not be with him in its entirety.  


* * *

_Armitage Hux, a human of thirty-five years, is henceforth stripped of his rank of General of the Final Order and branded traitor. By the order of Allegiant General Enric Pryde, he is to be henceforth banished to the planet of Arkanis and forbidden to leave the planet for the rest of his natural life on the pain of immediate death. This we do so enact for the good of the Final Order._

_Signed, Enric Pryde_

* * *

Armitage supposed he had been extended a single kindness before his exile. He had been permitted brief medical treatment before being shuttled into a transport ship to Arkanis. It was not enough, however. His shoulder burned and throbbed in pain and Pryde had seen to it that Hux suffer during the transport. 

His uniform had been stripped from his possession and he was dressed in simple clothes. They did not befit a man of his station or of legitimate birth. He had then been escorted by trooper to the craft. Coordinates had been entered without his knowledge. Until he saw the outline of the planet and the gloom of the environment, Hux did not know he was even given the chance to live out the rest of his days. 

Some executions were not all blaster to the head, after all. Exile was a clean, common method of execution for those in higher ranks. In fact, Hux had ordered one officer to be exiled onto a desert planet with enough rations to get him through a single day. He had calculated the odds and the man would be dead within a standard day cycle. And so he had been. Nothing had been left but the white bones that were picked clean by the native wildlife.

That is what the former general had assumed would happen once he saw he had not been prepared for execution by blaster. But at the sight of Arkanis, Armitage Hux wished he had been given such mercies. He would rather have been torn apart by wild beasts or left to bleed out on the bridge of his ship than spend another waking hour on this planet.

The trooper--DH-1460--was tasked with transporting the former general to his residence and then ensuring the sentence be carried out. She would reside on the planet but away from the sentenced man so he would not be able to manipulate her and escape. She would monitor his movements and report back properly to Pryde and the Final Order.

There were no words exchanged between Hux and the trooper. In fact, the former general was resigned the moment they broke into the planet's atmosphere. 

When his eyes gazed upon the estate and his feet fell upon the path in front of the large building, Hux immediately understood his punishment. Rain began to fall onto his head and clothes. It was slow at first and then steady. The heavy rain had begun and it caused the exiled man to enter the place he had never called home. From his memory, he recalled roaring fires. Now it was dank, dismal, and cold. Sheets and cloth had been pulled over furniture to prevent too much dust from collecting. No fire roared to welcome him. Not that Armitage had ever felt particularly welcome in his father and Maratelle's home.

The beeping of a droid drew his attention to the east. An LEP servant droid made its way to him, stopping in order to presumably take in the new visitor. Quickly, or as quickly as the rotund thing could move, it went back the way it came. Armitage took a few more careful steps inside and found his attention drawn to the empty fireplace. That wouldn’t do, especially not in this cold. He had the initial mind to send for firewood when he stopped himself. He didn’t have anyone to fetch the wood. He had not seen any humans here. Certainly DH-1460 would not do it. Hux had no command any longer. In the end, he was on his own.

“I say! Hello?”

The voice could have been mistaken for human if it were not clouded by obvious mechanical tone. Again, Hux found himself face-to-face with a droid. This time it was a protocol droid. This one he hardly recognized on the first viewing. On the second thought, he recalled this one. “X-3ZP2,” he said as soon as the name came to him. It was not said with fondness. A droid was a droid. They had their usefulness and that was it. The droid seemed stunned. As stunned as a droid could be, at least. Its black and silver plated body awkwardly shuffled closer in order to better scan him. One hand in his pocket, Hux stepped to the droid and pulled out the paper detailing his exile. He had the mind to give it to him when the droid spoke in what passed as incredulity.

“Master Brendol?”

The question brought a reaction of rage but Hux forced it to quell itself. “Master _Brendol_ ,” he said as though choking on spice, “is dead. I am Gen—” Another forced pause. “—Master Armitage Hux. I have returned planet side and will remain here for some time.”

Hux hardly recognized the words he had given voice to. The droid’s “eyes” examined him and examined the paper. Hastily, he folded it and placed it in his pocket. It would be easier not to confuse the machine.

“Ah, young Master Armitage. Yes, I do recall you when you were but a boy. You do look like your father, Master.”

The statement hardly comforted Hux. He waved a hand and gestured it to the fire. “There is none here. Where is the firewood? I’ll have it made immediately. Light the fires and warm up the place.” A feeling of pride coursed through his veins. It was as if he were in control again. Perhaps this wouldn’t be the most unfortunate thing in the world if he had a being to listen to him and take orders.

“A fire, sir? I am afraid to say there is no firewood nor kindling.” The droid turned its head from side to side in two twitches. Hux supposed it was from lack of care over the years. “Then fetch some. Go on. Cut it down.” Again, the droid twitched. “I am afraid there is none in the stores. None that is useful in any regard. It will have to be cut down from the forests, sir.”

Hux’s lips parted and he found the skin both dry as well as cold. A chill started to seep into his bones and his body recalled it from his youth. “Have the servants chop it down, then.”

“There is no one left, sir.”

The silence was as deafening as the crack of thunder that sounded outside. X-3ZP2 did not jolt as Hux did. “What do you mean ‘no one left’?” He questioned, a dangerous edge to his question. “No one has resided here in five years, sir, since the mistress left. The human staff no longer remains on the grounds, except for once every three to four months for our regular maintenance.”

“Pray tell when the next maintenance is?”

“Three months and twenty-two days from now, sir.”

Another crack of thunder took on Hux’s mood. His shoulder began to ache and his leg throbbed, too. He would die of the chill or by infection. Perhaps both. But he had no intention of being exiled to his own personal hell only to die like the men he had sentenced to death. “Ready a private room for me. Clean this place at once. I expect things to be in order and for a meal to be prepared upon my return.”

“There is no— “

Hux could almost feel the metal on his face as he invaded X-3ZP2’s space. If they had been human, Hux was sure the droid would have jumped or shrunk from him like a cadet. “I expect it upon my arrival. Otherwise, expect your deactivation and scrapping.” The droid was quite silent. “Yes, sir. Master Armitage.”

* * *

Hux had hardly done labor such as this. This was menial work that was not meant for a general. He wasn’t a general anymore. He had to remind himself as he took the dull and rusted ax into the rainstorm. His lithe body would be soaked to the bone by the end of his task. Swinging the ax in an unpracticed, unskilled manor that yielded little result. Many of the branches cut were thin and not conducive to long-term heating. But as soon as he had cut down a substantial amount of wood, Hux realized he would have to lug it inside rather quickly. Nearly two hours of cutting branches and barely passable logs would be all for naught if he could not get them out of the rain storm. Wet wood was not flammable, after all, and the Arkanisian rainstorms were unrelenting this day.

Several trips back and forth from the south woods had also drained him physically. Hux stopped more times than he would have liked to touch his wounds in pain before mentally slapping himself and getting back to work. Once all of the wood was inside, the servant droid from earlier was informed to bring the stacks to the great hall. Hux hung up as many of his wet clothes as possible and traveled through the kitchen up the stone stairs to the great hall. The sheets were no longer clad on the couches and he took advantage by lying flat on his back. His hand went to his shoulder and pulled away. Unmistakable red liquid stained his fingers.

“X-3ZP2!” Hux realized, hours after having seen the droid, that it would be exhausting to even say the full name. Shortening it would be too familiar. He didn’t want familiar. Truly, he didn’t want any of this. There was no response after some time. The servant droids came to pile on the wood, moving in and out of the hall every few minutes. Hux had called the protocol droid’s issue number several times and was seething with pain and irritation. He stood, grimacing at the agony, and went shivering toward the stairs. He made it a point to avoid any portraits that were visible and uncovered on the walls as he entered the second floor.

“Master Armitage!”

The excitable clomping of the droid’s feet was something he would have to get used to. Part of him missed the smooth rolling of the BB units on his ship. Hux displayed his hand to the droid. “Bacta. Isn’t there a tank or--?”

“Yes, there are patches! I will retrieve them—“

Another wave of the hand. “Bring them and any sedatives to my quarters.” _Quarters_. Hux had grown too accustomed to that luxury. Luxury was certain in this estate but he was curious just how much luxury Maratelle had left them.

It turned out there was less in terms of luxury. The room was about the size of his private quarters on the _Finalizer_ but they were more barren than expected. Any of the warmth in regards to design had been taken away presumably by Maratelle upon her expulsion. The bed was quite large and retained its crimson bedding yet the years had caused the color to fade. Gold thread had been woven in but had lost its shine. In all truth, he hadn’t expected any less from that woman.

X-3ZP2 returned with the required treatments and left at Hux’s command. He took the box of sedative and patches to the private bath. Now he recalled this; this had been his father’s. As a little boy, he had come in here once and received a beating for it once Brendol had caught him snooping about the luxury bath. Despite his dampness, Armitage found himself turning the handle to draw warm water into the tub. He stopped it up and placed a hand under the flowing water to feel for any change in temperature. Once it was at a suitable level, he ceased the flow and proceeded removing his clothes.

It was then he caught sight of himself. Hux had not realized how the year had affected him. He had always been quite lithe but his body was showing the effects of the stress. A diet of caf, Tarine tea, and meager portions had caused his ribs to prod against his skin more than they usually did. He was dreadfully pale and the circles under his eyes were a bruised shade. Hux’s hand reached to touch his cheekbone and then traveled to his hair. It was completely soaked from the rain and disheveled. None of it would do.

His eyes traveled to the sights of injury. Hux’s shoulder was an angry red and pink. It would leave a scar but hopefully one that was not as expansive as it looked. Following down his chest, his abdomen, his navel and hips he found the blaster wound to his thigh. Familiar anger flashed through as he recalled the look on the traitor FN-2187’s face as he shot him. It had been satisfied with the vengeance. If FN-2187 could not have death, he could have the grievous injury. That wound was not as serious as his shoulder but it caused the former general to limp. Now it was causing an immense amount of agony.

First came the sedative injections. Hux was the sort of man who could withstand pain. In some cases, he found, he enjoyed it. His brain now treated the stab of the needles as a necessity to his healing. The bacta pads would come after he soaked in the tub. The clear water was soon turning crimson as his blood mixed with it. The water soothed the chill that had imbedded itself into his body. Eyes that held the shade of the forest outside shut as the warmth wrapped itself around his body. Hux sunk more and more into the water until everything but his hair was submerged in the marble tub. For just a few moments, Hux allowed his mind to rest.

A few moments had turned longer. Soon enough, time had no meaning. The fury of thoughts and plans had quieted themselves as the man allowed himself to rest. All of this felt as if it had been a terrible nightmare. Delusional thoughts that all of this was a forced vision by Kylo Ren came to his conscious mind. Yes, that was it. Ren was prodding into his mind and using this as a form of torture. That is why this had all seemed so vivid and tailored exactly to the root of Hux’s loathing. He would wake himself and enact his revenge. Damned be the consequences.

But as he woke, Hux found himself a face floating in crimson water. The minute the metallic fluid touched his lips, he lifted himself from the water with a gasp. This had not been a dream in the slightest.

His hands were pruned. He questioned how long he had spent in the tub and how it affected his physical status. Climbing out, he dried himself off with a towel and placed the bacta pads on the appropriate locations. The towel shielded his privates from any unwanted view as he stepped into the bedroom and went to the wardrobe. Luckily, clothes had been left for him. Albeit these clothes had been made to fit Brendol Hux. Brendol, as Hux recalled him, had been twice his size. Maybe even three times with Hux’s current physical state. The father had never let a day go by without remarking how skinny and weak Armitage was. Despite all of his efforts, the boy had been unable to put on the acceptable amount of weight for a respected soldier. Brendol, however, had been robust in his prime and his clothing showed that. Hux would be swimming in the garments but it was better than going about nude and catching his death in the chill.

He did find a pair of trousers that had, presumably, come from his father’s youth. They were not too large on him yet he did have to tighten them with a belt. Wearing his father’s clothes caused Armitage to think about walking into the serpentine lake with stones in his pocket. His skin felt irritated and he gave his right forearm a scratch. Clad in the black trousers, white shirt, black vest and black shoes, Hux took a seat at the edge of the bed and was still. In his youth, he had often dreamed of what it would be like to be in his father’s favor. He questioned being able to exist in the very room as Brendol without fear of retaliation. After his father’s death, he had grown accustomed to being without the old man. He was in his zenith with Brendol Hux dead.

Clad in his father’s garments and sitting on his father’s bed, Hux realized the dead never had rested. Brendol Hux was having his revenge. He had claimed his son and shown the galaxy how weak and ineffective he had turned out to be.

_Weak._

_Foolish._

_Useless._

_Useless. Useless. **Useless**_.

The rainstorm roared outside. Inside the second floor private chamber, the glass mirror shattered against the impact of Armitage’s fist. Shards cut his knuckles and fell to the floor in front of him. Hux hadn’t realized his outrageous reaction until the throbbing transferred from his shoulder and leg to his right hand. Unclenching his fist, he examined his hand. Another bacta pad would be required from the droid. Hux’s eyes lifted to examine the damage. Fractured glass marred his reflection. To Hux’s absolute horror, the eyes that shone back at him were the same dull green as his father’s. He would have to contend with those eyes in that very mirror for the remainder of his days.

In all truth, Armitage would have preferred to bleed out on the bridge of the ship. But now he was to live and waste away in a prison of his father’s design.

It was to be Brendol Hux’s ultimate revenge on the boy who had, at the end of the day, failed him. Just as he had always said he would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so pleased by the lovely reception on the first chapter! I was going to publish chapter two for a few days from now but I couldn't wait! Enjoy chapter two and see the end for notes.

Armitage awoke the next morning to the continuing rolls of thunder from outside. Luckily he could not feel the chill of the stormy weather as he had seen to the second floor fireplace being lit before retiring to bed. The poorly cut firewood did not last long but at least he was not freezing. The thought of venturing back to the South Woods irked him upon waking and sliding out of the bed. It was still quite early. Checking the clock, he realized it was 04:45 hours. Not terrible by any standards but his internal clock felt put off. But Hux wouldn’t mind that now. His immediate desire was to relieve himself in the bathroom and check on the status of his wounds. The bacta patches, while not as powerful as immersion in a tank, had done their job. His shoulder injury was healing quite nicely, though it would leave him with a circular scar the size of a coin. His thigh, too, would remain the same way. As he reflected on his physical appearance in the mirror, Hux lifted his hand. The reflection mirrored him. Removing the bandage from his right hand, he found the recent injury was the closest to fully healing. Only scabbed cuts remained. Hux had meticulously taken each shard from his skin and seen to covering his appendage with a patch and bandage. Discarding both in the rubbish bin, he set about his morning.

Typically, at 04:30, his lieutenant would be waiting outside of his quarters with his caf and tea. The general would take his datapad and read through his reports that had come through the hours of his sleep cycle. He would review reports of new recruits, the training of his newest soldiers, the status of weapons factories and when new ships would be added to the fleet. By the point he was finished with this, an hour and a half later, his caf would be finished and his tea would be suitably cool. As he took his bitter tea into hand, Hux would respond to any messages from ground force command or from other commanders on their sister ships. That would take precisely another hour. At which point, he would go to the refresher and clean his body. Armitage Hux cleaned his body twice a day; before retiring to bed and after his morning tea. He then dressed in a manner that could only be described as ceremonial. First his undershirt then his trousers. Then the tunic and belt that closed around his waist. His monomolecular dagger was tucked into the disguised pocket in his left sleeve inseam. Then his boots. Finally, his hair was ensured to be regulation. Hux would attend to his diary for forty minutes precisely before adorning his coat and hat. By the time he left his quarters, it was 07:30. His inspection of the hangar and troops took half an hour to forty minutes depending on the status of the crafts and on the condition of his troops. But it was never later than 08:15 the call for “General on the bridge” was made to his bridge staff. After a short address, they would return to their duties and Hux would attend to his second cup of tea.

The Hux Estate was not the _Finalizer_.

Armitage realized this as soon as the need for caf hit him. His finger twitched as he attempted to part his hair and he had the mind to call for his cadet. Addisen had been his name. He had been a youth that was no older himself but not quite as young as FN-2187. The thought of the traitor sent more rage through him. His thigh throbbed in response.

The sponge soaked up the water and rubbed over his body, cleaning every inch until he felt physically clean enough to start his day. Hux’s fingers pushed water through his hair, pressing the scalp and rubbing the tension away to the best of his ability. He retrieved a new towel and dried himself off before donning a set of clothes similar to the previous day. It wasn’t his general’s uniform but, unfortunately, it would have to do. His trousers were not as dressy as they had been last night but they were conducive to working outside. After all, no one would fetch the firewood except for him. His shoes were waiting for him by the south door where he had reentered last evening. For now, he would suffice for walking the halls in his socks. The floor was not completely cold thanks to the heat from the fires. Before he left he checked the clock. 05:40. Absolutely unsettling. Another new routine to adjust to. Another inconvenience.

Upon exiting the room, Hux pulled on a jacket that had obviously belonged to Brendol Hux. It nearly swallowed his smaller frame. Luckily it was the perfect size and make for the task ahead. He set off toward the stairs with a singular mind aimed at finding caf. “Oh, hello sir! Good morning!” Came the rather irritating, crisp tone of X-3ZP2. The droid had been meandering at the foot of the great hall stairs. It turned its body to face him at full attention. Hux gave it—him, rather, as it sounded like a male’s programmed voice—a short nod and fixed his cuffs. “Is there breakfast prepared, X-3ZP2?” “Oh, not yet sir. I was going to wait until you appeared to ask. Master Brendol always had his regular breakfast. As did Mistress Maratelle. But I cannot find it in my programming to recall your regular breakfast.”

Maratelle had either wiped that detail out of spite or it was merely due to the fact Armitage was hardly given a place at the official table with his father and his wife. Regardless it irked Hux. The man kept his anger at bay as he said, “Then, for now, a cup of caf and tea. There is tea here, correct?” “Unfortunately, sir, the stores of tea are quite low. They also have not been used in the past few years and I do not recommend drinking from—“

Another inconvenience. “Then I will go into town and retrieve some. There must be a speeder, yes? Lead me to it and I will be on my way.” X-3ZP2 twitched twice in response. Hux could see the embers of the fire reflected in the shoulder portion of the droid’s physicality. His own fingers tapped against his upper thigh as he waited for the droid’s next movements. “Well?” “—While you were asleep, Master Hux, a visitor arrived at the estate. A Ms---well, a DH-1460, she said she was to be called. She said that she would be residing in the Servant’s House. When I told her that would not be necessary, as she does not work here, she did aim a blaster at me and threatened to destroy my programming if she was not permitted to reside there.”

Armitage’s heart suddenly throbbed as if it had forgotten how to beat. Of course the damned Stormtrooper would be close. The bastard Pryde would need constant updates that Hux was not plotting a return. If he was, Pryde would have him killed onsite. “And what else did she say?” “You were not permitted to leave the property. It is in the conditions of your exile that you not leave the property until your sentence is completed. It is to be enforced. Any disobedience is punishable by death.”

It was impossible to stifle a laugh. Everything was absurd! Hux would not be able to set foot off the land without fear of being shot down like a mutt. His exile was to be utter hell, then. “Pray tell me what I am supposed to do about food?” A whirring came from within X-3. “I believe she said I would be allowed to travel into town to purchase sustenance for you, Master Armitage.”

“Did she? Did she happen to consider that you do not know what I require? It would be easier if I was permitted to go in weekly with an escort. Is that not fair?”

“Sir, I merely wish to follow orders—“

Hux thought to go for his blaster. He did not have it. “Then take me to her _now_ , X-3ZP2! That is an order from your _master_.”

* * *

Hux had never walked the path to the Servant’s House before. He had no reason, truly, to go there in the five years he lived at the estate. Trudging through the rain in his muddied boots, he felt more than cross he had to lower himself to this level. His injured knuckles pressed three times against the wooden door. After some movement inside, the door opened to the DH-1460.

DH-1460 was concealed in trooper armor, but Hux was aware of her. He had an extensive memory of the troops who went through his program. Well, the ones who made an impression. DH-1460 had entered the program at four years of age and was three years Hux’s junior. Despite their age difference, she had risen in notoriety amongst her comrades. She had served Hux and the First Order faithfully and without question. Despite any injury or weaker comrades, she was obedient to every command. Hux supposed it was to his current detriment.

“DH-1460,” the former general said with all of the bravado of his previous command, “I must speak with you. May I come in?” For a few moments there was no noise except the pattering of rain against the grass. Again he asked, “Is it permissible to allow me to come inside?” “No.” Her answer was distorted through her vocoder. It was also not the answer he wanted. He adjusted his strategy. His arms behind his back, Hux continued pressing: “It appears that food storages are quite low. It also appears you informed my droid that I am not permitted to leave the grounds to retrieve proper sustenance. I would implore you to change your mind as it is crucial to my continued—“

“If I may be frank? Stop with the formalities.” Her voice was hard and full of contempt. It actually shocked Hux where he stood. The rain was falling from his head to his shoulders and sliding underneath his clothing. It caused his body to shiver and he hated it. He hated appearing weak. “I beg your--?”

Again with an interruption. “No. You are confined to the grounds and are not permitted to leave. Your droids can go in and out of town to retrieve what you need. Provide them a list.” “They will rust.” “Many are waterproof.” Hux harshly retorted. “Mine are not.”

He did not know that for sure but it leant weak weight to his argument. Now Hux was fully shaking from the cold. The jacket provided little in way of waterproofing. DH-1460 was less than sympathetic. Her tone was evidence enough of this. “What good is my sentence if I die within the first week?” “My job would be finished sooner,” replied the soldier. Hux could sense the smirk behind the words. Coming from one of his soldiers, it provoked rage pure and simple. “And if you escort me? You could keep your blaster against my head for all I care. The grounds are not suitable for farm work. I cannot sustain myself. I need goods from town. And I do not think Allegiant General Pryde would be fond of my suffering ending prematurely. Don’t you? In fact, he would see you did not complete your job. You would be punished. Perhaps executed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” DH-1460 snapped at him. Hux provoked further: “If his wish was for me to suffer for life and you did not see my life sustained, then you go against strict orders. And he would punish you the only way he sees fit; death. Don’t doubt his humor. I know him far better than you—“

“That’s enough, traitor!”

Hux was not physically assaulted but the way the words stung him certainly made it seem he had. Even behind the armor, he could sense her fury. He had taken a step down and back from DH-1460. Armitage collected himself. Finally, the soldier spoke. “—I will send word to the town. You will receive the provisions you require. If there is anything that is not of essential to survival, you may be allowed _one_. That is all.” It was at the end of her words that Hux noticed his former soldier had drawn her blaster and pressed it against her own hip. She had been prepared to shoot him if the exchange came to blows. Hux doubted she would have felt guilty about it. Another twinge affected him. _Traitor_.

“Thank you.” Hux collected his scattered thoughts. He hadn’t realized how quickly his nerves had been lost until his eyes laid on the blaster and his new status had been spoken. His thanking went unacknowledged. “Besides essentials, I require tea. And caf. That is all.” As it had before, silence was his answer. Hux did not know how to end the confrontation and, thus, left the building for the estate.

Upon reentering the estate, Armitage found himself quite uneasy and desiring either caf or alcohol. He went past X-3ZP2 toward the basement and where he had left his ax. Hunger pushed to the side, he grabbed the weapon and headed toward the South Woods. His attempt at cutting wood had been poor and the remnants of his effort were scattered on the border of the grass and forest. There was no technique as he hacked away at trees that were easier to reach. These did not put his life in danger when they fell. With each swing and hack, his fury was channeled through the ax. It briefly reminded him of Kylo Ren and his tantrums. It infuriated him to think in such a manner; he was _not_ Kylo Ren. He was not an impetuous child nor was he a sycophant who would destroy everything he touched without order and precision.

Coming back to himself, Hux saw the mess in front of him. Crudely chopped logs were indistinguishably laying atop each other. In the fevered state he had been swinging the ax, Hux was truthfully amazed he had not injured himself with the ax. How many times had Kylo Ren swung his saber and nearly cut himself?

 _Enough with the traitor. Don’t waste your energy_.

It was weak to give into a person who was no longer in his life. Kylo Ren deserved no place in his thoughts. Green eyes fixed on the stump before him. It was as if he could see the laser into the center. Heaving the ax, Hux drove the metal through the middle of the stump. Stuck. It stuck in the middle. His upper body strength was not the best.

_Weak. Ineffective. Slip of paper and useless._

If it had been a person’s head, blood would have flowed freely. Brain matter would have been destroyed and splattered on the grass. The person would have been as unrecognizable as they had been in his thoughts. His stomach lurched and Hux dropped the ax against the split trunk. Doubling over, acid dribbled from between his lips. It burned and ached worse than the blaster to his shoulder. Hux’s body retched once again and more stomach acid scorched the ground. Disgusting. He spat out the remainder of his retching and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. For a few moments he could see nothing except black spots and the dismal color of the wood. When he returned to himself, Hux could feel his hair matted flat against his head. This time he didn’t care to drag the ax with him. He picked up as many logs as he could carry and brought them into the estate. His voice shouted for a servant droid but it was as if Hux could not hear himself. As soon as the orders had been barked into the empty doorway, he was out again to bring another armful of wood. This pattern repeated for two more trips.

It was upon his final reentry that Armitage noticed the wood had piled up. No droid had come to retrieve it despite his barked orders.

He found a small yet intimidating piece and stormed inside. At the sight of the rotund droid from the day before, Hux lifted the wood and directed it at the head of the LEP droid. Yet before he had the mind to bring it down over its head, he stopped himself. This was not the proper conduct of a general. As the droid beeped and stared at him, Hux declared, “I ordered the wood to be taken inside. My orders were not followed through. You do as I command or you will be scrapped and burned. Is that understood?” The words were surprisingly more calm and measured than was intended. Hux felt anything but as the droid beeped in response and went past him. It left him soaked and alone in the dismally lit basement hallway. Something other than rage and the cold made him shake. And that was hunger.

Physical hunger, yes, but also hunger for something else. Desperate hunger ate away at his stomach as he searched for the kitchen. It had been an area the boy never went much like many areas of the estate. Upon entering Hux found two large ovens, a large square preparation table made from silver, and stoves that seemed almost primitive. On the First Order ships they did not have these kitchens. Their meals were mainly military rations consisting of nutrients the men needed all in plain form; usually in a type of porridge or some other bland looking substance. Hydroponics had been the way they received nutrients from vegetation. After all, a crew and army suffering from scurvy or defects was not the most effective force in the galaxy. Hux had seen that all the meals prepared ensured the First Order’s health was in top shape. He, too, had gotten used to his simple meals. At this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than stew. Hot stew, preferably, with a mug of tea or cup of caf.

Luckily he found soup. It was a First Order MRE—that is Meals Ready to Eat—and was still good. The latest use date was for a year from now. Better sooner than later.

Armitage was not a complete privileged imbecile. He knew how to create heat in case he was ever stranded on a planet. He knew how to cook food to ensure he did not die of starvation. Yet in all honesty he initially could not operate the large stove. His fingers fiddled with the dial and he stepped back in surprise when the flames suddenly shot to chest level. Quickly he dialed it down and let the flames settle. A pot. That is what he needed next. Armitage set about finding one that was too large for the small amount of soup the can provided. It would work. He set about opening the can and poured the contents inside the silver pot. The broth was a creamy red and contained vegetation that provided substantial levels of protein. It would fill his aching, empty stomach. Hux placed the pot on the burner and watched it with impatience.

A minute passed and nothing. Another minute. It still wasn’t done. To the starving man it seemed an eternity had passed and it was absurd the food wasn’t ready _now_. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he observed the soup. It was eventually that steam let up from the thick broth. Then it began to bubble; just one at first and then a few more. The smell pleased Armitage and settled his frayed nerves. Instantly he dialed the heat to zero and removed the pot to pour the meal into a bowl for himself. With the correct silverware, Hux brought the soup upstairs and left the dirty pot for a droid to clean. And he would ensure his orders were followed.

His taste buds anticipated the warmth and flavor the visual presentation provided. It wouldn’t be too rich but it was food. It was nourishment and life in a warm bowl. Hux seated at the dining table that had been set up in the ballroom for any of Maratelle’s parties. He became aware he was still wearing the wet coat but his desire for food overruled all matter of decorum and comfort. He could be comfortable after he filled his stomach. Hux brought the spoon into the brew and then up to his mouth. To his utter disgust, the soup was lukewarm. The beans in the soup, too, were not cooked well at all. It wasn’t what he wanted and it tasted just as foul. He couldn’t possibly eat this.

The thought occurred to him that he would have to venture all the way downstairs to the kitchen to remake this disappointment. Before he even realized it, the bowl was shattered on the ground and the red soup was scattered and staining the table and Hux’s own lap. It didn’t even hurt him. Hux hadn’t realized it until he realized how the red coloring looked like thick blood. Like his own blood.

* * *

_His head turned to the side. His shoulder was hardly discernable beyond the thick, pungent odor of burnt flesh. Then there was blood. It hadn’t been cauterized at all. Pryde had been a lame shot due to his own weakness and it caused the general’s shoulder to turn into a bloody mass._

_He could hardly react. The shock had struck him as though he had been slapped. The shock was apparent in the atmosphere of the bridge as all eyes were on their fallen general. Pryde was barking orders that Hux was unable to hear. It was akin to being immersed underwater. His head felt heavy yet light at the same time. Perhaps this was dying._

_It had to be dying. His vision had cut out. Now he couldn’t even see the red of his shoulder yet he could feel the agony. The agony and embarrassment of it all._

_Pryde had been wanting to do this for years. He recalled the look in his eye before the blaster rendered him injured. Hatred. Smugness. Disgust._

* * *

“Sir? Master Armitage?”

Hux came back to himself and to the realization he was doubled over the dining room table. He was gasping for air as if he had been choking. The illness he had experienced a mere hour and twenty minutes ago had returned. What could explain this? What could possibly explain the acid that dripped from between his lips and the paralyzing terror he was experiencing? This was not him. This was not General Armitage Hux of the First Order.

“Get away from me!” The command ripped from his throat and he staggered from X-3ZP2, knocking his chair onto the floor as he did so. The droid seemed as alarmed as it could appear. The two stared at each other as Hux came to grips with himself. “Master—“ Hux held out his hand to ward the droid back. He gestured to the mess then to X-3ZP2, his mouth opening but no words coming out. Another wave of illness crashed over him and he staggered from the room. A different LEP droid was entering and earned the brunt of his tumultuous state; Hux shoved it against the doorway as he made way to the stairs.

He had missed the intended second floor entirely and he realized it when there was no further stairway to climb. Hux’s shoulders rose and fell as he calmed the throbbing ache in his chest. Acid still clung to his tongue and esophagus. It burned as he swallowed. This wasn’t anything Hux had experienced before. It caused the former general anxiety. Was it a reaction to the bacta? Had Pryde actually poisoned him?

_Cease this. You’re driving yourself insane. That is what he wants; he wants you to go insane here. Pryde wants you to eat yourself raw starting with your own thoughts. Don’t let him poison you._

The voice was not entirely his own. Nor was it Brendol’s. Brendol would never disparage his dear friend Enric in that manner. But despite not recognizing it, Armitage repeated the voice’s mantras to himself. His lips silently mouthed it as he moved forward. There were three doors that were closed. Something jogged his memory and Hux focused on one particular door to his left. It was a fine brown wood and the handle was a darker shade. His fingers flexed toward it and he closed them around the handle.

Something stopped him. His thoughts turned to another door that was down the hall exactly ten paces. Hux abandoned his bid for the new object of his attention. The door was ajar and he could feel the warmth inviting him inside.

It was a study. The fire had been lit in the early morning hours but was still going strong. There were bookshelves that were stacked carefully by color and size. One couch and an armchair were neatly arranged by the window while a rich desk and chair sat in the corner closer to the books. His bare hand touched the desk. Good quality wood. Only the finest for the Huxes. It showed some age but not wear and tear. Brendol would never allow for that. Armitage’s attention focused next on the books.

 _The Complete Histories of Arkanis. The Indigenous Populations of Arkanis. Military History of the Old Republic._ Books of philosophies and theories, too, littered the shelves. Political events on Arkanis and of other planets caught Hux’s eye. He wondered just when Brendol had the time to read these. Had he?

That earned him another mental slap. Of course they had been read. If they had not, they would not be here.

His eyes next examined the desk though his hand dared not peer into the drawers. But what had he to fear? Would Brendol burst through the door and discover him? A dead man had no power over him now. It was Armitage who had the advantage. He had the power to see what exactly his father had been keeping notes on, his thoughts, and his writings. But still, it felt disobedient. He felt as if it were not within his rank or station to go through these personal papers.

And yet, who was there to stop him?

* * *

“Sir?”

X-3ZP2’s voice drew him out of his stupor. How much time had passed since Hux had sat in the chair before the fire, his father’s personal papers in both hand and lap? Had it been hours? Mere minutes? Hux found himself finding the clock that hung on the wall above the fireplace. 12:00 hours. He had been there for hours engrossed in Brendol’s writings. His clothes had dried and he felt more at ease existing within them. He wasn’t entirely irritated at the interruption. X-3 had, after all, brought an LEP droid with a steaming cup of caf.

It seemed a lifetime since he’d had caf when, in reality, it had been a day. A day in a half to be specific.

Hux gestured for the droids to enter and placed the papers aside. The droid wandered over with the tray of caf. “And where did you find this?” He asked, taking the cup and bringing it to his mouth. Heavenly. Any nerves still left tingling instantly calmed with the satiating taste of the dark caf. “Unlike the tea?” “Master Armitage, we received new shipment of food stores for your satisfaction. It is quite basic in nature, but Trooper DH-1460 said it was suitable for your needs,” said X-3ZP2.

This was a one-time “kindness”. Hux knew better than to expect it again. “How long did she say the food stores were to last?” “A month if used appropriately.” “Is that right,” he mused. Concise. Hux would have done the same if he were her. His methods had apparently stuck with his troops despite the change in status. His hands felt exceedingly warm against the cup but he was thankful for it. He watched how the reflected flames danced across the metal of both droids and made them shine warmly in contrast with the dull room.

“Did Maratelle remove _all_ of her décor before she left?” Hux questioned, placing the cup aside on the table. No coaster. Damn.

“Mistress Maratelle insisted she take anything she could afford to bring off-planet.”

Curious and curiouser. “Off-planet, you say? Do you happen to know where she went?” “I do not, Master Armitage. I heard nothing from her before, during, and after her departure. She did seem rather angry.”

It was impossible to not laugh. “Of course she was,” came his haughty response. “Did you expect her to be happy and obedient?” Two more twitches. Hux was beginning to suspect it was a nervous habit. Could droids even become nervous to start with?

“No, sir. Very good, sir. Shall we leave you be?” Hux dismissed with a flick of his hand. “Have my next meal prepared for two hours from now. I wish to finish my reading.” “Very good, sir. I fear the firewood stores are becoming low. There is not much to sustain them all through the night.”

A point of vexation. Truly, Hux needed a hired hand. It was highly doubtful that would be allowed. He was a prisoner; not an official landowner. The estate made no money. Hux suspected reputation alone was what kept the building and its mechanical residents out of sight and out of mind of the other Arkanisian inhabitants. He was the only one who was able to bring the firewood in. There was hardly another way to keep the old building heated.

“I will see to it after my meal. Good afternoon, X-3ZP2. And—“ Hux paused. He wasn’t sure if the LEP droid had an official “name”. Instead, he repeated his hand dismissal and watched the droids leave him to his reading.

There had to be something to ease the firewood issue. Perhaps he needed to look into the droids’ mechanical make to see if there was anything in them that was waterproofed. It had to be. Arkanis was rarely sunny and dry. Droids had to be able to survive in the rain.

Hux’s brain had not completely settled from the whirlwind of his exile. He had not bothered to seriously consider this fact. Even now his head felt as if it were swimming from the turnaround of his fortune. How the mighty had fallen. In fact, that was a remark Brendol had made in his notes about a fellow soldier who had fallen out of favor with the Empire. Armitage retrieved the papers and resumed them. These had been dated far before his birth. It was mainly entries on the progress of the Academy and theories on how his soldier training program would progress. Many of these ideas had come to fruition in Armitage’s lifetime. Others seemed so absurd that he wondered just what Brendol had been thinking! One passage struck him:

_We experimented with keeping the mothers of the children with them as they trained. However it only strengthened the bond between mother and child and the rebellion against commanders began to show. Displeased, I sent the mothers away. Unpleasant matter but dealt with quickly. Some of the children were also eliminated. Spoiled this year’s class of soldiers. Will not commit the same mistake again._

A ludicrous idea. Keeping the mothers with the children made them weak. It made them sniveling weaklings who could not conceive of the idea of independence. Brendol had been foolish to think that would work.

Hux brought his caf to his lips as he continued to read the papers. There were many data entries, too, as well as charts and notes that detailed each day’s progress. They were clearly labeled in the manner that only Brendol Hux could understand. An hour later, Armitage set his father’s papers on the desk and stood before the fire with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the cup of warm caf. That was enough on the Commandant’s Cadets for one afternoon. He scanned the shelves for something new and his eyes fell on the section labeled Engineering. Before he could reach for a book, the familiar growl of his stomach stopped him. Another day. Perhaps later when he could concentrate on a full stomach.

* * *

Exile was not something he would become used to immediately. Hux was exhausted by the end of the first full day and had succumbed rather early and rather quickly to sleep. He had brought his father’s books to his bed and barely had the chance to open them before his physical exhaustion took over. The firewood stores were substantial now; he would not have to fret about replacing them for another day.

The physical labor did not strain his body as it had the previous day but that was thanks to the bacta patches and sedatives. Hux had made sure to take them at precisely the time he had the night before. While his muscles would ache from the labor, he would not strain his injuries. He had not retched either which was fortunate.

Yet despite the minor improvements from the day before, Hux felt nothing but rage. Even as he rested there was the lingering fire that burned in his chest. The rage did not quell on the second day nor the third day. But by the fourth and fifth, he found himself following his routine with mindless obedience. It distracted him from the fire in his chest and the sickness that plagued him. No longer was he retching up stomach acid yet the nausea would strike him at random moments as he wandered the halls or read the books and papers left to entertain him.

The door on the left on the third floor remained closed. But as the month stretched on and Armitage visited the third floor study almost daily, he found himself wondering what was behind it and why he was drawn to go inside. Even curiouser, why _didn’t_ he enter?

Hux would take pause and retreat to the study to read his father’s familiar words. But the door remained in his thoughts. And as the first month of his exile came to a close, the third floor room remained a maddening fixture.

A month and a half after he had been exiled, Armitage broke his routine.

His exhausted feet brought him to the door to his left. His hand closed over the doorknob. He turned the knob.

And he entered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr to post updates on this story as well as my others. I would also love to answer questions anyone may have about any aspect [inspiration behind character choices, predictions, etc.]. I would love to interact with you guys in any way/shape/form. 
> 
> Follow me at http://sehn----sucht.tumblr.com
> 
> See you in the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

The room was hardly decorated at all. It was the plain sort of design that Armitage was used to. The man enjoyed lavish design but even he knew when it was too gaudy and not practical. Riches and glamor often clouded the minds of the powerful. It became their hubris. Armitage Hux did not allow it to become his.

A simple bed, enough to fit one body, was pushed against the wall. A wooden dresser rest against the foot of it while a wardrobe of a darker wood was placed at the wall opposite to the bed and dresser. There were no pictures on the walls. In fact, there was hardly anything except a yellowing poster that was a call to arms for the Old Empire. The helmet and uniform of the Stormtroopers made an appearance as did an officer clad in a dark tunic and appropriate Empire attire. Medals and ranking pins proudly decorated his right breast. The man on the poster was handsome with his sharp features and posture that commanded respect. Even now, nearly thirty years later, Hux felt himself swelling with duty and pride as he gazed upon the past.

Not everything had been perfect in the Empire. The First Order would have been an improvement on it. But one thing Hux had taken from the old order, and improved significantly, had been the propaganda. The posters were planned and detailed to insight pride and spur individualistic action. That was the reason so any of his subordinates had joined. Armitage took pride in the fact he was the one behind their enrollment. He took pride in setting time in his schedule to write speeches and record them for his troops. Hollo-projections would be sent to occupied corners of the galaxy to boost morale and rally for enlistment. Hux had spent hours ensuring every bit of information was enticing enough for the every-day member of the galaxy to realize their potential within the First Order.

Armitage turned his head from the poster and went to the dresser at the end of the small bed. He opened one of the drawers and drew out the first item of clothing he spied. The material was soft and the shade was black. His bare fingers closed around it and drew it out of the drawer. Armitage could see it was a black shirt that was much too small for him now. In fact, it looked as if belonged to a doll. No, not a doll; a little boy of only three or four years of age.

Unfolding the shirt entirely, he held it in front of him. The shirt was black, yes, but faded from constant use and wash. Perhaps it was more of a dark grey now. Somehow the size of the shirt did not seem entirely real. How had he fit into it? As he touched the clothing, near where the shoulder was, he was surprised to find his finger pressing through a hole to the other side. Armitage sat on the bed and placed the shirt against his knees so he could get a better look. He hadn’t recalled damaging any of his training clothes. Certainly they were taken to be washed after he had marred them with sweat. When had this been ripped? It was unseemly. It wouldn’t do.

There was another hole, now that he had a better look at it. If he was wearing the shirt, it would have been right at his collarbone. Armitage mirrored the spot on his own body. This he did not recall either. When had—

* * *

_“Get up, Armitage! You’ll be dead the second you hit the ground!”_

_His little body was trembling. Hunger and exhaustion coursed through the boy’s body. He wanted to go to his room. He wanted to sleep or to read. He wanted—_

_Another jab at his shoulder. No, not a jab; fingers grabbing onto his shirt and dragging him upward. His father’s angry face almost against his own. He could smell the man’s breath. Had Father’s eyes always been such a vivid green?_

_“If you stay on the ground, you’re dead! Do you hear me?”_

_His sharp shoulders hit the ground. He could practically feel the bruises sprouting where he connected with the training room floor. The **practice blade**. Armitage recalled almost too late. He rolled out of the way of his father and pulled the dull “weapon” from his pocket. If it had been a real blade, his father’s blood would have been spattered on him. The thought hit the four year- old boy like a punch to the gut._

_“—You would have been dead minutes ago. Think faster than your opponent. They’ll always be trying to one-up you.”_

_The boy dropped his knife and realized his hand was shaking. He could hardly focus on his father’s face or his words. The elder man turned from his son and signaled a droid forward. Something sparked and caught his eye. He didn’t fully understand what it was the droid had drawn out of itself. Whatever it was, Armitage could feel phantom pains coursing through his little body._

_“Let’s see if you understand me, boy. Five seconds to stand. Five, four, three, two— “_

* * *

His eyes fluttered and he folded the shirt neatly on his lap. After placing it in the drawer and closing it, Armitage took it as his cue to leave. The room was cold. He’d forgotten how little heat traveled into it.

Armitage went to the third floor study as he had originally been planning to do. He’d gone through some of his father’s papers in the preceding weeks but had also been distracted by engineering books as well as histories. Just what else did Brendol have in his personal belongings?

He opened one of the side drawers, of which there were four. The first contained papers Armitage had been studying over the past few weeks. He’d gone through each meticulously and in chronological order. They’d started from when Brendol was in his early-thirties to just before they had left Arkanis. The second drawer had hardly been explored but Armitage could guess as to what they contained; data and reports on the status of the Commandant’s Cadets. He found himself correct as he glanced through the second drawer. It was the third drawer that intrigued him.

There were more papers, yes, but there was something else. A slim maroon box that was locked. His fingers felt around for a key but he found none. Armitage’s fingers pressed alongside the corners as well as the sides. As he touched the corner of the bottom, he felt an indent. A false bottom. He gently pried the false bottom up with his fingers and took the small silver key for his keeping. Trying the lock, it opened easily. Brendol hadn’t been too paranoid at the time they had left Arkanis. That had come when Armitage was much older. He unlocked the box to find more papers and a folded envelope. Off with it, then. As he unfolded and opened the envelope, the contents unnerved him.

Pictures of an infant were neatly placed inside. The infant was pale but had fair features. His eyes were closed and he was wrapped in swaddling clothes. Light red hair peeked out from the baby’s head. He seemed at peace. On the back of the picture were scrawled words:

_Armitage. five pounds and three ounces._

His shoulders tensed as he read the words in his father’s handwriting. Another picture was similar to the first except it contained Brendol holding the infant in his arms. His father’s posture didn’t seem right. Brendol sitting as straight as a soldier and looking into the camera as if he was posing for a portrait. There was clear coldness and indifference toward the infant in his arms. It was something he had to do.

Suddenly, Armitage felt ill. He tucked the pictures back inside the envelope and considered burning them. The thought seemed to come from nowhere. He didn’t move toward the fire. Rather he kept looking.

There were two more photos. One of Armitage when he was a year old. His red hair had grown out into waves that were smoothed against his head. His eyes had transitioned from brown to green and seemed to draw attention to his face. A picture behind that was of a three year-old Armitage in military uniform. The grey of the uniform stood stark contrast to the boy’s pallor. His face was thin. In fact, his entire body seemed fragile and lean. His hair was no longer grown out but cut short to military standards. Green eyes were wide and almost confusedly gazing at the viewer. Armitage, who had never pitied anyone in his life, immediately felt pity for the little boy staring back at him. He felt as if he was intruding. It was shameful to look at this.

He placed the photographs back in the envelop and slid it back in the box. Before he let it rest, he found a small clear bag. A lock of red hair had been tied with a black ribbon. It had, evidently, been shorn from the head of a baby. Armitage’s hand went to his head and gently pinched a piece of his own hair that remained on his head. The small bag instantly fell from his fingers and he closed the box. It locked immediately. Placing the key underneath the false bottom, he placed everything where it belonged and shut the drawer. He felt unnerved at what he had come across. For a moment it seemed as if Brendol would appear behind him to scold him for prying. Armitage had hardly been aware of any pictures from his youth. When had he sat for them? He’d sat for many portraits and pictures as an adult but he barely recalled the ones in his father’s possession.

The sight of himself as an infant in his father’s arms stuck with Armitage through the day. As he sat for his evening meal he found himself increasingly unnerved at the very thought. And as Armitage readied himself for bed, his mind wandered back to his youth and to thoughts he hadn’t dared to explore in decades.

* * *

Over the next fortnight, Armitage returned to the study but did not open either of the bottom two drawers. His focus was not on his father’s personal papers, either, but instead on the books. His mind needed to fed in the matter that his body was with the regular labor. It had been quite some time since he had seriously studied mechanical engineering. Now he had the thought to outfit his droids with waterproofing.

It had been almost two years since his last big project. Starkiller Base was meant to be his magnum opus. Armitage had been as proud of the base as a father did their child. There was irony in such a thought that did not fail to escape him. Now it seemed he was to start from nothing and work his way back up. In the late hours he was tempted to plan something bigger than Starkiller, if such a thing was even possible. Ideas tinkered about in his thoughts. Perhaps two planets this time. Even if the planning and building took ten years in total or an entire generation, he would see it done. These thoughts soothed his aching limbs as he rested in his bath or as he laid between warm sheets and covers at night. When his body was on fire and he wished to send the ax through his own feet, Armitage found the idea of something bigger than Starkiller Base attainable enough to keep going.

Things were different now. Before, he’d had a team of experts and more access to resources. Hux Estate hardly had the supplies and materials to build a new droid much less anything close to a weaponized base.

Armitage contended with the idea of reinforcing his droids. He researched the types of droids the estate contained and found their tech was outdated. They would have to be improved one-by-one. In total there were about six droids that operated in the estate; five LEP servant droids and one protocol droid. The LEP droids had the potential to do more than operate about the estate. They could assist him in his laborious outdoor work and even carry more supplies when they came in from the center of town.

DH-1460 had come to visit at the end of every week. She rarely said a thing but inspected the building to ensure nothing was amiss; no plans to defy the order of exile or, Armitage imagined, to kill her. Not that he could with a simple ax or with a swift swipe of a log. That would only contribute to his own death.

In truth, Armitage’s anger was beginning to subside. It hadn’t come all at once and it wasn’t entirely dissipated. He was, rather, resigned. His day had become a routine; rise, bathe for the first time in the day, change into work clothes, chop any wood that needed to be chopped, bring it inside, eat, attend to matters in regards to building maintenance, study his books, eat, walk the grounds, more study, eat, sleep. He had thrived on routine for a majority of his life and it was what saved his sanity. He hardly spoke to anyone unless it was X-3PZ2. Again, he hardly spoke to DH-1460 unless it was absolutely necessary.

Two months in total had passed since his exile. It was on the exact day that the sun came out.

When the sun came out on Arkanis, it was a rarity. The average temperature was typically in the forty to fifty-five degree Fahrenheit range. On sunnier days, the temperature raised to the sixties. It was warmer than normal. After bringing his firewood inside, he changed into his typical attire and gathered a few books as well as a pad and pen for notations. Armitage notified X-3PZ2 he would be on the grounds and requested to be alone. Stepping outside he found it warmer than initially thought and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to above his elbows. It was astonishing at how pale he was. This sunshine, Armitage thought as he set about the path toward the South Woods, would do both his body and his mind good.

It had been some time since he properly explored the grounds beyond the initial cut of forest. As he traveled beyond the path into the South Woods, Armitage realized how thick the trees actually were. They were heads taller than expected and cut into the blue of the sky. The leaves acted as slits for sunlight and they hit the autumnal colored forest floor. In regular weather the woods would appear as dreary and frightening as tales told around a fire or the horrors of war. Instead, today, there was no fog to obscure one’s sight. In the trees, Armitage swore he could hear the sounds of animal-life both new and old. Birdsongs greeted him as did the scurrying of small feet. He didn’t recall exactly what species lived in these woods but only that they were controlled populations. They wouldn’t do him harm, either. If they did, he had a small dagger he had found in his father’s personal effects that would provide some protection.

The dense trees cleared enough to reveal a grassy area before the lake that ended the Hux property. Beyond the waters, Armitage could see more forest. Miles away there were more properties and even harbors for shipping. He found a grassy spot only two feet from the water’s edge and seated himself in front of a log that had long ago fallen. It was conveniently a resting area and a glorious place to rest his sore back. Setting his stack of books and notepad aside, Armitage picked one engineering book and opened the pages to where they had been earmarked the previous day. He balanced the book on his left thigh and his notepad on his right. As he read, he took notes and drew small sketches of possible ways to fix his droids’ programming. It would take time and concentration but he figured he could complete these upgrades himself. There would be no need for anyone to come and upgrade the droids with tech he was not familiar with. Armitage was beginning to grow comfortable with his isolation. It was easier to adjust to, now. In fact, he supposed he had always been this way. Having childhood playmates seemed to be a silly idea. What good was a life if it was not useful right from the start? Though born a bastard, Armitage had displayed his usefulness to his father and the growing First Order right from the start. Though he had made his mistakes, at least he had learned and grown from them. Armitage had not been useless as once feared. So many beings in the galaxy were useless and had no purpose except to inconvenience others. Armitage did not let that become his fate.

His mind briefly pondered over the lives of others on this planet. How useful were they to the new regime? Some days he forgot about them entirely. He queried how they were faring under the Final Order’s rule. Not much had seemed to change but Armitage wasn’t qualified to pass judgement on that. After all, he only saw his former trooper. He did not know if people were suffering or surviving. Was Kylo Ren the lap dog to the Emperor or had he taken over?

In all honesty, Armitage had not thought about Kylo Ren in almost a month. His own survival had mattered more than the man who had taken his greatest pride and destroyed it in a year. The First Order was to be the final solution to a galaxy-wide problem. They would restore the balance. Kylo Ren had picked it apart from the very start. His own weaknesses and hubris had been Armitage’s undoing.

He had dreamed of Kylo Ren’s death many times. The cause would be Armitage himself, of course. There was no other way for the former to die than by the latter’s own hand. He dreamed of it, once, coming in the form of poison. It would be much like Brendol’s death except it would be prolonged. Armitage would be there to see his final breath and even the mess that would be left behind. Another path would be Armitage taking his personal blaster and letting the laser go into Kylo Ren’s pretty head. Those brown eyes would hold fear and even some anger, but the fear would be the ultimate pleasure. Seeing those eyes shut forever and the blood leak onto the floor would be more than enough. In that case, he wouldn’t have minded Kylo Ren dirtying his ship.

If he had gunned Ren down in Snoke’s throne room, he would have been justified. Anyone else would have thought Ren had some part in it. If they didn’t, it would have been fear that convinced him. Armitage did not fear Kylo Ren until it was too late. In some aspect, perhaps he should have. He should have seen all of this coming the moment Ren had the scavenger from Jakku in his custody. The moment he found his new obsession, Armitage should have seen the end of _his_ First Order. It had been foolish of him to let Kylo Ren’s emotion sweep him up. He had been weak for so long. Weakness and desperation were his own fatal flaws. Look where it had gotten him.

Armitage came back to his own thoughts and found his place in his reading. It was impossible to fully concentrate and he set both books aside in favor of gazing at the lake. It was large and potentially full of fish. Arkanis had a lively fishing economy albeit a dangerous one. Miles away, in-between cliffs and in deep trenches, there were fish that would sell for hundreds and feed entire villages on poorer planets. The amount of money made from the fishing economy had made Arkanis a wealthy planet in Armitage’s lifetime. He imagined just what kind of creatures could be found. There were more dangerous, larger ones that lived in the deepest points of trenches and seas. He had witnessed many a nerf sacrificed for the pure reason of scaring young soldiers and cadets. Armitage had never been scared, per-se. As long as he worked hard and didn’t die, he would live longer and fuller than a nerf.

He realized, then, he had risen to his feet and walked to the lake’s edge. He knew how to swim, obviously, yet was not too keen on the idea. Something about the unknown depths of the lake sent a shiver across his back. The idea he had nothing to dry his body off with also touched his thoughts. Dipping a toe in was quite reasonable, however, and it was a warm day. There wouldn’t be many like this for some time.

Armitage removed his fine black shoes as well as his socks, setting them neatly side. He rolled up his black trouser legs until they comfortably rested not even half an inch above his knees. Hands sliding in his pockets, Armitage stepped in until he was submerged up to the mid-calves.

The water was heavenly. His head tilted back and his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of the cool water against his skin. Gently the water lapped against him and he swore he could feel gentle nipping at his toes and his ankles. It was likely nothing. Or, rather, it was tiny fish that were merely curious about this new intrusion into their home.

He had never done this before in his life. Armitage recalled, just once, coming this way. It had been for not even ten minutes but the sight of the vast lake had amazed his four-year old mind. It seemed to go on for miles and miles. He had wondered if there was ever an end or if it stopped off the other side of the planet. How foolish he had been to think such things.

It was as he closed that thought that he heard a sound behind him.

The woman was tall but not taller than him. Sunlight beamed off her silver suit and could have blinded Hux had it been more aggressively sunny that day. Her hair was shorn and cropped much as his own was. Although now Armitage had been liberal with the length of his hair. It was still kept short enough so it was not in his face yet a slight fringe threatened to pass his eyebrows. It was due for a short trim by his own hand. This woman’s hair was a copper shade that was richer than his own and more passionate in a matter that matched her personality upon their conversation on his first full day of exile. Her face was more childish than he had thought for a person who was only three years younger than he. It leant her and innocence that Armitage knew she did not entirely possess. Her skin was deeper than olive and her eyes were a rich brown. Her features seemed both emotional yet contained. Words were bursting to the surface yet she remained silent as she walked to him. The earth crunched under her feet. The sound came to a stop as she stood a foot and a half from him.

Armitage looked over his shoulder then faced her entirely. He gave her the chance to speak; she did not take it.

“I informed my protocol droid I would be here. You needn’t fret about my escape. I have no intentions of dying today.”

DH-1460 did not respond. She did not look beyond him. Armitage looked at her hands. Her blaster was holstered around her hips. It was within range of grabbing and firing at him. He inhaled. “This is a beautiful location to execute a traitor. Quite serene, peaceful. If that is what you are planning to do, I suggest you take advantage. Poets will sing about it. It is what poets do, isn’t it?” Another breath. “I only ask you do not give Enric Pryde the gift of my head. Fill my pockets with stones and let me sink.”

“—Allegiant General Pryde is dead.”

There were no words to describe the feelings that welled up inside of Armitage. On the outside, he seemed stoic and as if he had not heard those five words. The internal life was a stark contrast. The little boy who had been locked away for countless years seemed to wake up as if lost in a comatose state. Armitage quickly bid the boy back to his dreamless state.

“—Too bad. I only wished to witness it.”

“The Final Order is dead.”

The next words were not of his own volition. “And what of Kylo Ren?”

The expression on DH-1460’s face held the same emotion Armitage seemed to feel inside. “The Final Order is _dead_. Destroyed.”

That seemed to answer Armitage’s question. Seemed. He looked over the lake and allowed the words to sink in. The Final Order was no more. Pryde was dead. Kylo Ren was dead. There was nothing that held him to the grounds of the estate. There were no consequences if he left. The thoughts distracted him. Armitage didn’t notice DH-1460 closing the gap between them. As soon as he turned his head to her, he felt metal crushing into his face.

The water enveloped him but hardly cushioned his fall. His hands had braced the rocky bottom, preventing himself from becoming even more injured. If his cheekbone wasn’t broken, it was certainly cracked. It throbbed and almost immediately began to swell. Squinting through the sunlight, he watched the woman tower over him. Her hand clasped the front of his shirt and dragged him back to his standing position. Something pressed against his temple. It was unmistakably a blaster. Armitage was sputtering the water from his mouth and the blood that was beginning to well up from a cut in his gums. Or was it a broken tooth? His face was throbbing and the notion of a blaster against his head made this a minor concern.

DH-1460’s face was furious yet it seemed as if she would cry at any moment. Armitage realized she was willing herself to end his life.

“—Two months, twenty-hours, fifteen minutes, and fifty-eight seconds.” Her voice was wavering. She was on the brink. Armitage had witnessed reactions like this many times over his thirty-five years. It didn’t surprise him but the notion of her finger pulling the trigger placed him back in reality. “That is how long I have been here serving out orders. Orders that the Allegiant General gave to _me_.” The blaster indented into Armitage’s skin. He found himself choking in a breath. The sound deeply affected DH-1460’s emotional state. “What did you do to him? How did you kill him?”

“I didn’t,” rasped Armitage, “but I wish I had.”

His body landed on the grassy area. Armitage turned his head to the lake. It was serene in the middle of all this chaos. He envied the still waters. He turned his head to face DH-1460 and he saw the blaster aimed at his chest. His arms spread out on the grass and his head laid against it.

“A traitor has lost all right to tell the truth. Why should I believe that you are telling me the truth? You betrayed the Final Order!”

“Fuck the Final Order,” Hux spat, blood shooting into the air. His eyes remained on the sun. It was beautiful. It was crisp. It warmed his pale, cold body. “Fuck Enric Pryde. And _fuck_ Kylo Ren.” Another step closer. Hux found himself laughing. “If it makes you feel better, DH-1460, then shoot me. I am the last thing tying you to this damned planet. If you want to be free, shoot me. Free me and free yourself.”

A sound that was reminiscent of choking reached his ears. Armitage hardly cared. She could cry, she could fret and feel guilty about ending his life. It would free them both. The Final Order was dead; there was nothing left for either of them in this entire galaxy. She had no family. Hux had no home. They were truly lost ships in the vast emptiness of space. Once again, his head turned to the lake. It was still. He pondered over if his blood would reach the waters and mix with them. It would be quite the shame to soil such peace with this dirty business. His eyes closed.

“Do it.”

* * *

The blaster had not hit him at all. In fact, it had never been fired. It had been discarded against the log, knocking over Armitage’s pile of books. DH-1460 had been as frozen as a carved statue. Her expression had been one of a person who had nothing left. Truly, she did not have anything. She had no orders to follow and nothing tying her to Arkanis.

Simply because she had spared his life did not make them equals. It was more just, she had told him, to leave him to rot on this planet. Pryde had clearly chosen it for a reason. She had witnessed Armitage’s isolation. It was more fitting to leave him in this place and take the craft that had delivered them both here. Surprisingly, Armitage did not argue with her on that front. The easiest thing to do would have been to kill her and take the ship. But where would he have gone? The Resistance, presumably the new ruling power in the galaxy, would want him dead if they got wind he was alive. Either he was to die by their orders in an unceremonious show trial and execution or he would die comfortable in his bed. Hux would choose the latter.

He didn’t argue with DH-1460 when she told him this. He did not say a word when she informed him that she would take the craft and leave. Her orders were null. She did not have to serve anyone any longer.

For curiosity’s sake, he had stopped by the Servant’s House before she had left. Her armor was removed. Beneath her armor had bene a plain black tunic that clung to her body. She was of average but athletic build. All of his soldiers had been exceptionally trained in the art of physical combat so it did not surprise Hux to see her tunic that clung to her body. He did ask her if she wanted proper clothes. He was surprised she had not shot him for saying such things. Nor was he surprised that she did not apologize for hitting him. He more than deserved it.

Her belongings had been minimal but she had them in a satchel. She had warned him not to follow her. Just because the Final Order was gone did not mean she had to respect him. In fact, she had said, if she saw him off-planet then she would not hesitate to kill him. Armitage respected that statement and said nothing in response.

Her question that followed had, although, shocked him into giving a verbal answer.

“Do you know where my family is?”

“—No.”

Silence between them. He had been shocked she did not call him a liar and torture him until he told her the exact location of her family. In all truth, DH-1460 had been one in thousands of Stormtroopers brought into his father’s program. Armitage had known her training and how well she had executed orders but she was nothing more than another mask to do his bidding.

His answer given, Armitage was no longer of use to DH-1460. He watched as she had left the stone house and as she walked up the path off the estate property. It was almost certain they would never see each other again in either of their lifetimes. Not that he wanted to.

There was nothing stopping Armitage from following her. Of course he had been threatened with death but that did not shock the former general any longer. He could walk the miles into the town center and bargain his passage off the planet. He was a Hux, after all. Though he had no income, his name was enough to buy him a new beginning. Armitage could almost see it in the rays of the setting sun. He could see himself going somewhere more cosmopolitan where he would not have to worry about the matters of cutting down wood for a fire or eating very simple meals that were similar to gruel. He could make his money as an engineer or as an influential leader. Perhaps he could even rebuild the First Order or something similar to it. He could change his name and no one would know better. Armitage Hux could rebuild himself and take the galaxy by force.

But as DH-1460 went out of sight and the sun began to set, those grandiose thoughts died. The courage suddenly escaped on the cool breeze that had begun the blow. Coldness was setting over the land. Armitage’s stomach began to ache for food and he needed to inject more sedatives to dull the pain in his body. The desire to escape this place, which had been ingrained in him since he had walked up the drive, was no longer present. Armitage was simply exhausted. There was no other decision to be made except whether to eat or bathe.

He had no desire to eat. Instead, he went to his private bath and drew the water to its suitable level. His face ached as it made contact with the water. Armitage had slid down so his knees peaked into the air. His hands washed at his skin and rubbed at his aching limbs. His hands snaked up his body and to his collarbones. Had they been this sharp before or was Armitage simply unaware? He touched the trail to his neck and jaw then his injured cheek. The sedatives had dulled the pain to an ache. He also noticed the roughness of his cheek. It was time to shave. He had always kept his facial hair clear off. It wasn’t regulation. Brendol had been a man with facial hair in his later years. His beard had never been the ginger shade of his hair; it had always been grey from what Armitage remembered. He touched his cheek again and was repulsed by what he felt.

Armitage’s eyes slid shut and he dipped his head under the water. To say there was no sound was ignorant. It was difficult to describe but if he could use words then he would say it was expansive. Water wasn’t entirely still when you submerged yourself in it. Molecules moved about in an exhausting dance. His hair flowed in a push and pull. Small bubbles released from his nose and between his lips as he nearly meditated in the midst of it all. It was peaceful. All of it brought him peace.

His imagination brought him back to the lake. Being underneath this collection of water was what being submerged in the lake must be like. He wondered if he would hear the expansion and the business of molecules. Would fish touch his hair? Would they nibble and prod at his skin? Would some unknown creature grab at him and drag him into the vast unknown, never to be seen again? No one would know of his disappearance. No one would care. Not a sentient soul knew of his existence on Arkanis. No one would miss him.

The spiral was all too tempting. But Armitage forced himself above water and to gulp down air as if he had never breathed before in his life. He touched his throat then his breastbone as he regained control. It was time to release himself from the bath.

The razor glided over his face as he controlled that aspect of his appearance. Armitage lingered a bit too long on his reflection. The razor was rinsed and discarded on the counter.

He dressed in his undergarments and sleeping attire; a paired set of black shirt and trousers. Yet as he laid in his bed he found he could not sleep. One hour ticked by then another. Then another. It was to be five hours before he would awake and Armitage was not the least bit tired. Sleepless and unnerved, he found a candle and lit it using a flint. His feet carried him quickly, and without thought, upstairs to the third floor. One stop in one room then a second in the second.

The little bedroom had not been touched since a fortnight ago. Armitage set the candle on the dresser and sat on the small bed. It was much too big for him now to lay in but sitting was the exception. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing in the room and in that bed. One hand slid into his pocket and he retrieved the small picture of himself and his father. The candle provided enough light that he could see his father’s face and how he held the tiny baby in his arms. Armitage had known he was smaller than most men but he had looked so frail as a newborn. His father easily could have crushed him. He wondered if Brendol had thought about that as he was placed in his arms for the first time.

The picture shook. Armitage could no longer focus on the image. It took him all of two minutes to realize his hand was shaking. It took him another minute to realize he had stood and was holding the picture over the flame.

It would have been so easy to let it catch fire. Armitage’s thought was to let the flame consume the image and to never give Brendol Hux the pleasure of this tender memory. His fingers slowly loosened and dropped the photograph closer to the flame. A fraction of an inch was all he needed to destroy the image forever.

_Weak._

_Weak._

Weak. At the end of the day, Armitage was too weak to let go.

* * *

When Armitage entered a routine, he found that he lost track of important time markers. He depended on the predictability of waking up and going to collect the day’s wood. Now he added plans for droid updates to his daily schedule. Of course, he would need the materials. He could, ironically, send his droids into town to collect scrap metal or send a list to be ordered and delivered. It was easier to not show his face. Attention was the last thing he needed.

The routine stuck and Armitage lost himself in maintaining his simplistic lifestyle. Another month passed and he hardly noticed. Another fortnight passed marking three and a half months since his exile. The sun did not show in all that time. He did not return to the lake as he had on that rare beautiful day.

On occasion he thought of leaving. But it would require organization and reprogramming the droids. Soon, the occasional thought of leaving dissipated entirely from Armitage’s mind. Work and enriching his mind with the same books and the same technology replaced any rebellious thoughts. In his weaker moments, alone at his vast supper table, Armitage wondered if this was what Pryde had wanted for him. If, after death, this was the fate Pryde had found suitable for the once mighty General Armitage Hux. And when he thought of what Brendol would say, Armitage knew that Pryde had won in the end even though he was no longer living. Armitage, too, was no longer living. He was surviving, existing. His purpose was all for naught.

The first day of the fourth month of exile came without fanfare. Armitage woke and dressed in his work clothes. A storm the previous night had knocked down a fair amount of trees at the north end of the property. He started his day with his caf and tea then pulled on his work boots and coat. He had embraced the growing facial hair. Embraced, however, was a strong word. He simply let it grow but not beyond a well-groomed beard. His hair was allowed to touch his eyebrow but not to grow loose and scraggly. He would maintain the air of a gentleman even if he was a gentleman in only name and not purse.

Armitage’s body had grown used to the swinging of the ax. He wasn’t entirely muscular but he was no longer painfully thin. He had found a new sort of upper body strength and had marveled over how defined his torso had become. He had never put a particular value on his nude physical appearance. He had never, in fact, sought out romantic partners. They were a distraction and an inconvenience to his work. Like many beings, he had his desires. If he needed to relieve himself of them, he had his hand.

He set about cutting the fallen trees into moveable pieces. Anything he cut that was usable for firewood would be separated into one pile. Anything else would be discarded further into the woods. Armitage set himself to work at the northern edge of the property and worked himself closer to the estate. It took nearly two hours to rid himself of the debris closest to the Servant’s House and work his way to exactly halfway between that house and his own estate. His stamina had certainly improved from four months ago and he allowed himself a moment of pride.

It was in the third hour that he felt his work was close to completion. Armitage discarded a broken branch to the rubbish pile and drove his forearm over his sweaty head. His fingers pushed back his hair and he looked up toward the light sprinkle of rain that had begun. A precursor to the harder rain that was sure to arrive in the next hour or so.

As he looked over the land, he noticed a dark figure in the distance. Now, his LEP droids were not scheduled to go into town for another two hours. It was a schedule Armitage had proudly gotten both himself and his droids to obey. Their waterproofing was in its infantile stage and he wanted to see how it would work in weather such as today. He had programmed in the exact time the previous day. His droid had not left the property.

The blade of the ax rested on the green earth and Armitage leaned on it as he squinted, looking past the growing fog. The figure was quite tall but not much taller than him. It was a masculine presenting individual and there seemed to be darkness crowning his head. Broad shoulders were draped in a dark jacket that seemed, as the figure approached, to be a brown leather. In fact, the only whiteness appeared to be the man’s shirt. Something hung from the shoulder and bumped against his hip as he walked. There was the unmistakable holster for a blaster strapped to the opposite thigh. The man moved with a swagger that Armitage had found utterly ridiculous and irritating in a life that now seemed to have been lived by another man. A dead man.

Armitage had heard, once, that Jedi sometimes returned as ghosts to speak to their protégés. Nonsense. All of it was utter nonsense. Once a being was dead, they were dead. They did not return and Armitage was certain of it. Yet, as the figure drew closer, he swore it was the ghost of his deeds coming to claim him. He had never felt guilt or fear of this magnitude before.

And yet, in front of him now, the figure of Kylo Ren halted and stood only five feet from him.

“—General Hux.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com
> 
> I really think my M.O. is to post chapters at the end of the day rather than at peak reading times idkkk
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Can't wait to hear your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

Kylo Ren stood as he typically did; three inches above Armitage and with broad shoulders that were only _just_ slumped forward. It gave him a lumbering posture and a physique that had always reminded Armitage of a predator confronting its prey. The man’s black hair barely touched his shoulders and shone richly against the grey of the atmosphere. He’d certainly dressed for the weather seeing as he was clad in a deep brown jacket of the leather variety. His shirt was white and somewhat ill-suited for the weather. Armitage could see the spots of rain where they had dripped onto Ren’s body. He wore black trousers which were secured by a belt and black boots that were, again, well-suited for Arkanisian weather. From his shoulder hung a bag that was only large enough for provisions and, perhaps, clothing if one were to pack it tightly enough. Dangling from his left hip and attached to his thigh was a holster. From it rested a blaster that was placed for a quick-draw. Curiously, Armitage eyed Ren’s right hip and thigh. A smaller holster that was big enough for what he assumed to be a lightsaber.

Armitage noticed in the period of silence between them that, besides the obvious wardrobe change, there was something different about Kylo Ren’s physicality. Initially he couldn’t quite pick it out. But when the man angled his head in a manner to cue Armitage to speak, he saw the obvious omission. His scar was gone. There was no angry red line that had marked Ren from forehead to jaw.

“I heard you were dead.”

Ren did not seem to be shocked by the statement. In fact, he seemed to accept it. He answered, “I heard you were executed.”

Armitage’s hand tightened around the handle of his ax and he pressed his thumb into an indent. The handle was old and had obviously been used for years before his own birth. He had wondered if it was ever used to punish servants on the grounds. He’d considered using it against X-3PZ2 more than once when the droid had babbled on about the state of the grounds on particularly stormy day. It wouldn’t have given Armitage the same satisfaction as he’d experienced executing Admiral Brooks. He’d ridden the high of that death for a week afterward.

“It seems your Allegiant General wasn’t as loyal as you thought.”

He took pride in the expression of irritation on Ren’s face. Time and the collapse of the Final Order had not changed the relationship between them. Even though they currently stood on an equal plain, Armitage considered himself on the higher ground. Ren seemed to recover and gave an obvious glance to the ax. Armitage, ever on the defensive, did not like the expression on his face. He did not like the fact that Kylo Ren was here at all. Rainwater pelted his shoulder in a gradual drizzle. It would begin to storm soon. He could feel it in the air. It was beginning to be a sort of sixth sense to be able to tell when these storms were beginning to brew.

“What are you doing here, Ren?”

“Kylo Ren is dead,” came the man’s bass response. The response, admittedly, shocked Armitage. His brain struggled to make sense of the phrase. It went against the obvious fact that Kylo Ren was standing before him.

It was as if Ren could sense that very thought and, for a moment, Armitage wondered if Ren had probed into his mind. “Ben Solo is alive.”

The statement was accompanied by a silent flash of lightening. No thunder followed yet Armitage was aware that it would soon come. It was better to leave now to seek shelter inside. Part of him wondered what Ren would do if he left him standing there. The younger man was stubborn to a fault and Armitage had no doubt he would follow him inside, invited or not. Ren was never one for civility. He wondered if this Ben Solo was. The thought that he had not been physically assaulted led to the notion that it was possible.

“A pity. I’d hoped to rid of you.”

Armitage glanced at the sky and then at the debris he had cleaned. It was suitable. He could consider his job finished for now and would look after the rest when the storm had passed. He didn’t want to invite this Ben Solo inside. For all intents and purposes, a new name did not dismiss the misdeeds of the past. He was almost certain an invitation to come inside would open up more disagreements and a tense confrontation. He’d known the man standing before him for six years and their dynamic had been tempestuous from the start. This reunion—though Armitage did not consider it to be so—would change nothing.

The rain had begun to fall faster than he’d thought. Armitage turned from where this Ben Solo stood and began to walk the path to the stone porch steps. He turned his head over his shoulder once to see the man walking a few feet behind him. Of course. Ben had always been hardheaded. He would follow him and they would have to speak to one another. In a way, Armitage thought the conversation would be a good thing. He could understand how Ben Solo had evaded death for what seemed to be the umpteenth time.

This wasn’t to say he was pleased Ben Solo was alive. When DH-1460 had stated the Final Order was no more, he had privately celebrated the deaths of his former comrades. They had never truly been his comrades. Kylo Ren had, after all, perverted the mission of the First Order with his selfish desires and his Force nonsense. Armitage had never liked the idea of Force users and thought the entire matter to be of the past. Kylo Ren had been a petulant child who clung to Snoke’s skirts out of fear and weakness. He had always been weak. Armitage had no doubt, even now, that he still contained weakness within him.

He handed the ax to an LEP droid—one he had called LEP-001—and removed his shoes. The fires had been properly stoked since the early morning hours and he relished in the warmness of the Great Hall. With a hand, he gestured for X-3PZ2 to come to him. “There is a man who will follow me. See he is brought to the library. I will greet him after I have changed.” “Yes, sir. I was not aware we were expecting company,” the droid replied. “Nor was I.” Hux removed his coat and handed it to the protocol droid before going up the stairs to his private room and bath.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Despite his outward calmness, Hux felt nothing but conflict as he mulled over what exactly the following visit from Ben Solo would entail. There was much to discuss and discover. He wanted to know how and _why_ the man who had called himself Supreme Leader was here. What was his aim? How had he decided to come to Arkanis?

Theories and possibilities flooded his brain as he dragged the sponge up and down his body, cleaning himself from the morning’s labor. He found he was unsatisfied with the way he parted his hair. After three valiant efforts, he simply parted it toward the right and forced himself to be content with how his hair framed his face. Luckily it was not too long nor was it ragged. His beard was also not quite unkempt. Looking at himself in the mirror, Armitage saw a face that had aged while Ben Solo’s had stayed infuriatingly young. He could see the worried lines that indented his forehead and the small lines at the outer corners of his eyes. If he stared long enough, he would fixate on the permanent dark circles from sleepless nights he had accumulated over his thirty-five years. He doubted those would ever go away. Armitage’s thoughts returned to the scar on Ben’s face. Rather, lack thereof. A scar like that did not simply disappear of its own accord. It took years, decades even, for those sort of marks to fade away.

He had the mindset to dress finer than Ben Solo. It was the reason he donned fine black trousers and a white shirt with a black suitcoat. His suit jacket was not exquisitely black yet it reflected how he carried himself. He was a general, title or not be damned. He would carry himself as such. Ben Solo or Kylo Ren be damned.

It had been forty minutes since he’d entered the estate and let X-3PZ2 tend to the unexpected guest. Armitage made his way downstairs and turned toward the library. He made note that some dirt had tracked in. Of course.

The library décor was crimson in nature with some gold flecked on the rug and curtains. The only aspects that were rather plain were the covers of books on shelves. The shelves were nearly fifteen feet in height and covered in either books or displays of scientific achievement. Armitage had seen skulls of indigenous wildlife, a model of the planet Arkanis, as well as busts of historic figures resting on shelves as the decorator had seen fit. Everything was placed with care and attention to detail. It was one trait of Maratelle’s that Hux genuinely appreciated. He appreciated aesthetics but would have to outsource for his vision to come to life. Anything that clashed was a sore sight.

That sore sight happened to be Ben Solo. His earth-toned attire made him stand out against the richness of the vast library. Armitage happened to notice that he had removed his jacket and that a black vest adorned his shoulders. If it had not been for the black hair and childish nature of his face, Armitage could have sworn he was looking at Han Solo. For a moment, it took his breath from him completely.

In Ben’s hand was a book and he was mindlessly flipping through it. The quick flicking of paper irritated Armitage out of his stupor. “Be very careful with that.”

Ben gave Armitage his attention and shut the book with one hand. “Mechanical Engineering of the Galactic Republic? That’s why your tech looked so old-fashioned.” The tone wasn’t meant to be a jab but Armitage took it as such. “The only good thing about the Jedi Order and the Old Republic was the technology. Combined with Empire technology, it became even greater. It had the potential to be unbeatable,” he confidently stated as he entered the room. Ben looked unimpressed by Armitage’s change in attire. In fact, he had been hardly phased.

“Did my droid bring you tea?” The taller man lifted a brow and shook his head. “You’ve never given me tea.” Armitage replied, “You never earned it.” Those words were immediately a mistake. The general scolded himself as he saw the lift of Ben’s right corner of his mouth. He held up a hand to stop him from further commenting then gestured for him to sit in one of the cushioned chairs. He continued, “Tea is for civility. For now, I’ll consider being civil to you.”

Ben collapsed rather than sat in the chair. He seemed unused to the comfort and shifted to readjust. Armitage, in contrast, sat rather elegantly. He prided himself on that as well. For being the son of a princess, Ben Solo had the manners of a brute. Armitage didn’t expect that to have changed in a few months. He turned his head and spotted X-3PZ2 in the doorway. At his gesture, the droid entered followed by LEP-001. The servant droid held a tray of tea and steaming cups of tea along with the appropriate sweeteners. Armitage placed everything neatly on the table between himself and Ben and gave a nod to dismiss his droids. X-3PZ2 did not leave.

“May I introduce myself to our guest, Master Armitage?” Armitage’s eyes narrowed at his droid for using his first name but he relented and gave a nod. X-3PZ2 rambled through his introduction and his purpose to Ben, who seemed most certainly out of place being addressed in this manner. It was hardly the nature of a man who had been Supreme Leader of the First Order four months prior. Armitage lifted his tea to his lips and let the drink pass between them into his mouth as X-3ZP2 waited for Ben to introduce himself.

“—Ben. Solo.”

A man of few words and many actions. X-3PZ2 seemed unsatisfied with the tone. He could only imagine how the droid was used to, well, protocol. It was difficult not to smirk behind his tea at the stilted response but Armitage merely allowed himself this one transgression. The cup hid the upturned nature of his mouth. Placing the cup down on a coaster, he waved his hand in dismissal. Ben’s eyes followed the droid out of the library then directed at the steaming tea placed in front of him. He took the tea and unceremoniously drank from it, grimacing at how bitter it was. He took a spoonful of the sweetener and let it fall into his cup where he then mixed it together with the same spoon. Armitage noticed with disdain.

“We have many things to discuss. Best be on with it,” he said after drinking from his tea yet again. The cup was half-empty and he made it a goal to not finish it before all questions had been asked and answered. “I agree. I’ll go first,” Ben said. He leaned on his thighs in an effort to claim his ground in this unfamiliar territory. “How are you alive?”

Armitage placed his hands on his own legs and nodded in acknowledgement. “Pryde was a terrible shot. I wager he was too embarrassed to admit he couldn’t kill me and lied.” The answer did not seem to entirely satisfy Ben. He pressed further. “He spared your life despite the fact you were a traitor? You really believe he would do that for you?”

The questions were utterly absurd to Armitage. He could not help the laugh that predated his response. “Enric Pryde was not a generous man. He punished me.” “By letting you live?” Ben asked pointedly. His right leg had begun to bounce. It shook the tea cups. Armitage cleared his throat but Ben still bounced his leg. “Is this an interrogation?” He asked as he saved his tea cup from the darker haired man’s anxious tic. “Don’t answer. It might as well be, eh?” Ben said nothing in response.

Armitage’s fingers curled around his cup as he asked a question of his own. “The Final Order is truly dead?” That earned him a nod of the head. He continued, “What happened to the Emperor?”

“Dead as well,” came Ben’s firm response. The hardness in his eyes matched his tone. Armitage’s chin lifted as he digested the information. The Emperor, as well as the Final Order, no longer existed. “What exists now in its place?” The look on Ben’s face ensured Armitage that he would not like the answer. Not at all. He took a sip of his tea and prepared himself, left hand clenching the arm chair.

“On with it,” he said, “say it.”

“The New Republic.”

Ben’s brown eyes watched Hux’s less than pleased reaction. It was exactly the sort he expected from the former general. Though his demeanor was otherwise composed, the movements of his hand and the manner in which his features twitched told another story. Hux had placed his cup down with a clatter and pressed his fingers into the tops of his thighs. The color of his fingers drained with the red focused on the tips. In all honesty, it was hard for Ben to not smile. Hux always displayed his anger in a refined manner. His displeasure could be shown over the stillness of his finger or the tilt of his head. His eyes spoke more than his mouth ever did. His subtlety ranged from barely noticeable to noticeable from another galaxy. If he hadn’t known Hux for six years, he would have been unable to tell how disgusted the former general was. But he noticed.

Hux certainly noticed Ben’s smile. “What’s all that?” He snarled. “Proud of yourself for destroying it all?” Ben’s head rolled to the left in exasperation. “You’re one to talk,” he retorted, noticing how Hux’s brows knit together in momentary confusion. The reaction floored Ben until Hux collected himself and reacted more appropriately. Well, appropriate for Hux. His back pressed into the red velvet of the cushion and he turned his head toward the large windows facing the east of the estate. It seemed the former general was in thought but Ben did not allow him to have the time to retort.

“Pryde sent me a communication telling me you were the traitor within our ranks. He said he executed you appropriately.” Ben didn’t like the smirk that graced Hux’s mouth. The man’s green eyes watched the rain outside intently, as if he were expecting someone to appear at the window.

“Were you working with the Resistance the entire time?”

The former general did not respond. Ben pressed again, still leaning forward on his thighs. “Why did you contact the Resistance?” Still no answer.

The fact Hux did not give him an answer leant to the headache that had begun to form. The air pressure of this planet and the storm systems had affected him the moment he landed. Breathable atmosphere be damned if he was already piloting himself into a planet with unstable weather patterns. Ben pressed at his right temple and leaned back in his own seat though his posture was more slumped than Hux’s. Even in apparent disgrace, Hux still dressed and carried himself as if his station had not changed. It marveled Ben to no end how the man sitting across from him could sit there as if nothing had occurred to put him on this planet in the first place.

Minutes ticked by. It seemed to Ben that Hux would become a statue where he sat. In a way, he was crafted and shaded like a statue. His skin was pale and the sharpness of his cheek and jaw stood pressed and to attention. His beard only served to highlight these features and Ben wondered why Hux had ever bothered to keep his face clean shaven when the beard turned him into someone more commanding and evocative. Perhaps he would have respected him more.

Patience had never been Ben’s virtue whether it was before he joined Snoke or after he had renounced Kylo Ren. It certainly wasn’t his virtue now.

“Why did you contact the Resistance? I want to hear it from you?”

It was at the second question that Hux gave him the courtesy of eye contact. He didn’t look pleased at all to speak of this. In fact, the former general seemed utterly venomous. “You left me with no other choice, _Ren_ ,” came the equally vile voice. It was a tone Ben heard during certain occasions; speeches to troops, propaganda recordings, the Starkiller Speech that would have allowed Hux’s name to live forever in infamy if it had not been for other events. Now that Ben thought about it, he had been the one to contribute to Hux’s current fate.

“Ben,” came the correction. It stoked the fires of Hux’s anger.

“I don’t give a damn who you are. _You_ are the reason I had to sink so low as to contact your bitch of a mother’s Resistance fighters.”

Ben visibly started when Armitage spoke of General Organa. The former general took pleasure in seeing the startled expression. It had always been easy to rile up Kylo Ren. He was certain Ben Solo was just as weak.

“The First Order had grown to be the greatest power in the galaxy. We had armies, armadas, fleets of ships and troops that would bow to our every order. Our reach expanded wider than the Empire’s ever would. It would reign longer than the Empire ever would. And all it took was a sycophant to the Jedi to bring it all down. You never wanted me to succeed.”

“I wanted it to succeed,” Ben said under his breath, anger seeming to boil to the surface. Armitage ignored it.

“You wanted to snuff it out the moment you arrived.” “Those peace treaties. The conquering of those planets. I added to your ranks and you personally would thank me for it.”

“For protocol’s sake!”

The jolting of Armitage’s knee almost upset the table. His fingers squeezed onto the arms of the chair to keep himself grounded. He could feel the seam threatening to break. He was unsure of how he looked at the moment but he could feel the burning of his face and the trembling of his nerves. This wasn’t how the conversation should go. Nothing would be accomplished.

He forced himself to drink more of his tea. There was hardly enough left for a final, proper sip. Armitage watched Ben as the younger man seemed to be composing himself. For a moment, Armitage wondered if he would use the Force against him. His body had been tense and he had prepared for retaliation at the mention of General Organa. Nothing. Not even the slightest pressure against his throat.

“—Why was I the reason?” Ben’s question rest deep in the bass of his voice. It was neither angry nor calm. It was emotionless and honest in its asking. Armitage lifted the tea cup to his mouth and finished the last bit of the bitter liquid. “I wanted you to fail,” he replied with honesty that matched Ben’s asking.

The tea cup rest on the coaster and Armitage was displeased he had finished it when he still had more questions to ask and answer. “You demoted me. You took everything the First Order had been and you changed it for your own selfish desires. You made it about something it was not. I had no hand in it any longer. You brought the command to Pryde and you stripped away everything.”

Armitage leaned forward on his own thighs and moved to sit at the very edge of the chair. His hands were clasped and shaking. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed his skin together to channel his fury. “How do you think it felt for me to be at the very top and for you to bring me so low? Do you understand? Truly?”

Ben was silent. Armitage did not let him be for long. “When I heard you and the Final Order were dead, I was happy. The only aspect I was unhappy with was that I was unable to kill you myself. Now you tell me this. How in hell are you alive? And why are you here?”

Ben’s eyes matched with Armitage’s and the two men seemed to watch each other as if they were both prepared for a fight. In truth, it was a fight of words rather than actions. They verbally circled one another, lashing out and jumping away from the next jab. Now came the silent circling of one another.

“—We received communication from a ship that had launched from this planet. Once landed on Chandrila, we came into contact with Trooper DH-1460. Dany informed us she was a former soldier for the Final Order and wished to surrender to the New Republic. She gave us information that a former general was still alive and exiled on the planet Arkanis.” Ben allowed himself a breath and reacted with disbelief. Armitage could only imagine he was reliving the events. “You can imagine how we reacted. There were discussions and I volunteered to see if the rumor was true. And—“ Ben gestured to Armitage in conclusion.

“We? And just who is ‘we’?”

Ben ignored the question. Armitage pressed further, “Your mother sent you to do her dirty work? Could she not come here herself? How weak she is in her old age how—“ “My mother is dead.”

Armitage, in all truth, could care less about General Organa’s state of being. If she was dead, all the better than her breathing. Yet the expression on Ben’s face gave him pause. There was obvious pain, yes, but something else that crossed his soft features. Emotions came to the surface that Armitage was unfamiliar to seeing in the other man. But as quickly as they appeared on his face, they disappeared and were replaced with a resigned and peaceful expression. The shift was almost jarring; as if Ben had turned the switch on his grief and shut it away.

Ben spoke again: “There was a decision that was reached between the leaders of the Resistance. Generals Dameron, Finn, myself, and Rey Skywalker came to the conclusion that I would see if the rumors were true or false.”

“Skywalker?” Armitage questioned. Ben’s shoulders lifted up and fell down as he breathed. That seemed to be the only answer he would receive for now. The former general continued, “You see that I am alive. What is your further mission?”

The rain had picked up speed outside. The storm was here. Water pelted off the windows and the stone of the building. Armitage hardly noticed it anymore but it seemed to unsettle Ben to the umpteenth degree. Perhaps it sounded like rapid-fire blasters or the sound of Stormtrooper armor crashing onto bare flesh. It sounded like war. Kylo Ren had seemed to find peace in war. Ben Solo, apparently, did not find that comfort in the sounds of it.

Ben rose to his feet while Armitage remained seated with his hands clasped together in his lap. Ben’s fingers drummed one at a time against his thumb and palm. It was evident he was gearing up to request something of Armitage. But he wouldn’t get the chance.

“No.”

The answer did not appear to surprise Ben but the drumming of the fingers ceased at Armitage’s sudden, unheeded reply. Armitage stood, smoothed his jacket, and repeated, “No.” With that, he turned and left his opponent alone in the vastness of the library.

* * *

Of course Ben would ask him to join the New Republic. To leave Arkanis and to venture to a place where he would be hunted down and thrown in the streets for vigilante justice. Armitage shut himself in his private study and collapsed onto the chair at his desk. Something in his head brought up the idea of a cigarette. Almost immediately, his body began to ache with the craving.

Cigarettes had been an issue with DH-1460. She had refused to give him the luxury and his body had suffered for it. Armitage had never considered himself addicted to anything; he would never give his power over to a substance like other beings did with their opiates and their pills that caused them to be on a high for hours at a time before crashing two days later. Cigarettes, he discovered, were not the exception. He had suffered terrible over the three-day withdrawal process. He had hungered for the oral fixation and the rush of smoke in his lungs. But after the three days had gone by, Armitage had put the thought of out his mind. He had an estate to run himself and he could not allow himself to spare a thought for a cigarette.

Now he was confronted with a situation in which he was sparing more than a thought.

There were no cigarettes in the estate; Armitage had discovered that when he had nearly torn through the studies and bedrooms for any sign of them. DH-1460 did not bend to his desire and he had been left to distract himself in other ways.

His fingers twitched as the memory of pulling the cigarette from the carton and placing it between his lips. The feeling of striking a match and letting the tip catch flame. It was almost an orgasmic memory.

His knuckles knocked against the desk repeatedly as if attempting to drum out the craving. Armitage’s other hand pressed against his head. One thump, then another, then another. He could not get Ben Solo’s words out of his head. The possible proposal would go against everything Armitage believed and had fought for. He had helped them—though that was a strong word—for his own benefit. Agreeing to leave Arkanis and go to Chandrila would be suicide. He would simply not do it.

There was a knock at the door. Before Armitage could say a word, Ben stepped inside with X-3PZ2 behind him. “Humblest apologies, sir, but I—“ “What is he doing here? Get out,” Armitage snapped. Ben was stubborn. He loathed that about him. “You didn’t hear what I had to say, Hux.”

“I didn’t need to. My answer is no. Leave.”

“The Republic could use your skill.”

“The Republic can rot in hell for all I care,” Armitage flung back. Ben was unfazed. He stepped further inside and shut the door with a wave of his hand. Armitage heard the lock click and X-3PZ2’s startled response muffled behind the wood.

“As much as I don’t agree with you, I’ve come to respect your skill as a leader.” Those words came out strained. If he had not been furious at being intruded upon, Armitage would have basked in the compliment. “Your ideas would help in the reconstruction.”

“That may be, but did you spare a thought and consider that I do not want to reconstruct what was lost? Maybe what was lost should have been lost eons ago.”

Again, Ben seemed unsurprised. Armitage rose to his feet, placing one grounding hand on his desk. “I am not ashamed of what Starkiller Base accomplished. In fact, I’m proud of it. More than proud. It could have accomplished much more were it not for unfortunate events. Do you honestly believe that will satisfy your Republican friends? They would rather see me dead and hanged in the street than working with them. I, also, do not want to work by their sides.”

“Then you would stay here? Wasted?”

The brutality of the words was likely not intended. To Armitage, it seemed a low blow. The words rang in his subconscious and for a horrifying moment he heard Brendol’s voice. The blood drained from his cheeks and Armitage recoiled.

Ben took the lead. “I’ve proposed to offer you immunity. You would stay in the confines of the government buildings with full security in case of opposition.” “How is that any different than here?” Armitage questioned. He raised his hand, “No, do not answer me. It is no different. I would rather remain here. It was the last command I was given.”

“You weren’t given a command posting. This is exile. It’s a slow death, Hux,” Ben snapped. Armitage recoiled again. He observed Ben bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose. He dropped the hand, letting it hit against his saber holster. Armitage noticed the satchel no longer laid over Ben’s shoulder.

The taller man folded his arms across his chest as he spoke again. “My job isn’t to convince you to come.” Armitage made a sound of mockery. “Not entirely,” Ben concluded. “Then what is your official mission?” Asked Armitage.

The rain continued to assault the estate. It ricocheted off the windows and the roof above. Ben’s fingers rubbed at his jaw then pushed back his hair. His eyes avoided Armitage’s. “—I was curious. I wanted to see how you managed to survive this one.”

The answer was honest at its core. Armitage could appreciate that.

His arms moved behind his back and his stance widened. His head leveled with Ben’s and bore into the other until Ben noticed the change in posture. It struck him and he adjusted his own posture to match the straightness of Armitage’s. It pleased the former general to see the compliance.

“I will have rooms made up for you. There are rules to follow and I expect you to follow them. You are on my property. If you disrespect me or the grounds, I will not hesitate to see you off of them. You may be the ruling party here but this belongs to me, not you. Is that understood?”

Ben’s eyes flashed but Armitage was unsure with what emotion. “Yes,” replied Ben. Armitage was tempted to ask for clarification but before he could, Ben had exited the study. This decision, he predicted, would come to haunt him. He would regret ever letting Ben Solo back into his life.


	5. Chapter 5

Armitage instructed X-3ZP2 to make up Ben’s guest room. It would be on the second floor two doors down from the second library and at the opposite end of the hallway from his own room. Ben’s quarters were not as large as the master bedroom where Armitage slept but it was of considerable size. In truth, the rooms were large enough for the high-status guests that had once been invited to stay while Brendol and Maratelle resided on Arkanis. Anything less than grand would be an insult and be detrimental to their respective goals in their lives. A large window allowed for much light and a view of the eastern side of the estate. A trunk rest at the foot of the bed for storing personal items and there was also a wardrobe for anything that needed to be hung. There was a door leading to a private bath which compared in size to the master private bath. It would be more than enough, assumed Armitage, for Ben and his meager belongings.

He was curious how long Ben intended to stay. Most likely he would stay until Armitage acquiesced to his request. He reasoned he could hold out until Ben grew weary enough to leave him be. He’d been called hard-headed before but it was a trait which served him well. This was his property and his existence. He had been content to remain this way until Ben Solo had inserted himself back into his sphere of being. He had no right to request this of him.

Armitage remained in his study until it was time for the midday meal. He supposed he should request Ben to dine with him but then he thought against it. It wasn’t what he wanted to do nor, he inferred, was it something Ben wished to do. He closed his notes and made his way down the stairs to the kitchens. His meal would be a helping of meat and vegetation. It was simple in its presentation and creation. Armitage was never one for complicated presentation. It hardly mattered to him. As long as the food served a purpose to energize him and keep him alive, it did not matter how others perceived it. He brought his meal upstairs and began to eat. It was on his second mouthful of food that Ben entered.

The holsters were gone from his hips. Evidently they were stored away. Good. For a reason he didn’t care to acknowledge, the sight of the weapons put Armitage on edge. All the better they were locked away and out of sight.

Armitage cleaned his hands and sat back in his chair. “Yes? Have you settled into your room?”

The question came out sounding more paternal than intended. Neither man seemed to react externally to the fact, though Armitage was cross with himself for the tonality.

Ben slid on hand in his pocket and nodded his head. “Yes. Your droid told me it was time for the midday meal.” His brown eyes scanned the empty places on the table, landing on Armitage’s occupied spot.

The former general lifted a brow and went back to cutting his portion of meat. “It is. Very observant of you,” he replied, delicately spearing a square cut of meat and putting it into his mouth.

Ben stepped forward to an empty chair and placed a hand on the carved wooden design of the back. The design curled and twisted but that did not compromise the smoothness of the carvings. It had been done with care and skill that Ben could only spare a second to marvel over. “Is there anything for me?” He queried, wondering immediately if he shouldn’t have asked. His answer came in the form of a contained exhale by Armitage as well as the crossing of his cutlery on the edge of his plate. Again, he cleaned his hands on his napkin.

“Our food stores are for a month’s usage. Every measurement is specific. Every meal is prepared so we do not waste.” Ben listened as Hux continued to ramble on about not being wasteful then raised a hand to get the other to stop talking. “What does this have to do with me eating? Is there anything for me or not?”

“I didn’t prepare this with you in mind,” came Hux’s harsh response.

Ben had expected that but not with as much vitriol. It would be hypocritical to feel insulted by the other man’s indifference. As Kylo Ren, he had treated others with the same inferiority. They had all been tools in his descent to darkness. To his understanding, Hux had felt the same way. Everyone in their respective lives had been tools or stepping stones to achieving galaxy-wide control. Now two of the strongest men in the galaxy were arguing over food.

Ben raised his hand again to keep the peace. “I’ll make my own.” He noticed the next thought bursting at Hux’s lips and interrupted, “And clean it.”

How he wanted to mock him and to see the former general lose his temper. Old habits tended to die hard, after all. Ben had a mission, however, and getting Hux off-planet would not work if the man loathed his existence. With silent obedience, he left the orbit of the dining table toward the

* * *

Armitage had nearly finished his meal by the time Ben returned with his own. To his irritation, the younger man sat at a spot besides the head of the table where he himself was seated and began to eat. Despite Ben’s brutish reputation, Armitage was silently amazed at the refined movements of his hands on his silverware. The manner in how he cut the meat and speared the food together was not cruel nor was it despicable to observe. For a man who had carelessly tracked mud, blood, and sometimes viscera onto his ship after a particularly brutal mission, Ben Solo seemed to be contained and refined when it came to dining.

It was easy to not make his gaze too obvious. Armitage had mastered the art through his years of eavesdropping on his father’s plans. Being underestimated had its perks, after all. It was how he learned the secrets of his crew and discovered out who desperately needed a round of reeducation. In this case he observed Ben by keeping his sight on his own plate and napkin while occasionally glancing from the corner of his eyes. If the cleaned his hand on his napkin, he focused on his water glass which was closest to Ben’s hands. For a fearful second Armitage wondered if Ben pried into his thoughts. A self-assessment resulted in no feelings of intrusion. Good.

“What is it you do all day?” The question came after Ben’s third mouthful of food and, thankfully, after he had swallowed.

Armitage folded his napkin and tucked it into the side of the plate while replying, “What I need to accomplish is my business and not yours.”

He observed Ben’s fork coming down with an aggressive clatter. He nearly sneered. Childish, sure, but it felt wonderful to hold all the cards while Ben held none.

Armitage articulated, “I will retire to my study. I have work to accomplish.” He asked a question he very nearly did not want answered. “What will you do? Report to your superiors?” Ben had picked the fork and knife up again and was cutting into his food to make suitable pieces. He did not respond until he had chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth on the napkin.

“They want updates. Mostly to make sure any rumors are true,” Ben responded with calculation and thought. The rationality of his tone was jarring to Armitage. A well thought out response was not something he expected from Kylo Ren.

At the corner of his brain he realized he would have to stop thinking of the man before him as Kylo Ren. But Armitage would do that if _Ben_ proved worthy.

He observed Ben take another two bites of food and repeat the cleaning of his hands as well as his mouth. Armitage questioned, “What did they think of your decision?” His forearms leaned against the top of the table while his neck bent toward Ben in intrigue at his response. “It depends on who you ask but they all pretty much thought the same thing.” Brown eyes met green ones. The green impatiently urged an answer.

Ben put his napkin to the side and drank from a glass of water he had brought from the kitchens. “They thought that executing you would remove the last trace of the First Order from the galaxy. It would prevent anyone sympathetic to the Order from rising up. Finn was eager to do it.”

Armitage’s hand went to his left thigh as he felt a phantom pain. The wound had fully healed months ago yet it felt as if the blaster had freshly pierced his flesh. A scar still remained despite the bacta patches. It was pink and measured four inches from his knee. Some days it was as if Armitage could feel it throbbing at the memory. Others he hardly recalled it adorned his skin.

“General Dameron—“ Armitage could tell by Ben’s tone that he didn’t hold too much respect for the man. “—agreed with him. But requested it be a public execution.” The two men shared a look that spoke volumes.

For once Armitage was convinced they both agreed on something. “You said no.” “I said no,” confirmed Ben. Armitage sat back against the seat and folded his arms across his chest. “And the girl? This Rey?”

Ben’s expression shifted as he seemed to recall the memories of the event. Not simply that event, however, but other events that Armitage had no knowledge of. The manner in which Ben shifted in his seat and broke the eye contact piqued his curiosity.

“She trusts my judgement,” was the only response he would receive before silence fell between them yet again. Ben’s eyes were downcast on the food that remained on his plate. There wasn’t much left; only about three mouthfuls in total. It took less than ten minutes for Ben to finish the food and clean his hands. Armitage wasn’t willing to let the thought go, however.

“You go from wanting to kill her to trusting her completely,” mused the former general as he moved his plate and silverware to the side. “The true traitor was always you.”

Ben’s response was a fraction of what Armitage expected. He abruptly stood and shoved the chair harshly into the table. He barely flinched but he did inhale sharply through his nose. If Ben had dared to look close enough he would have also seen the briefest dilation of Armitage’s pupils. But he didn’t notice. In fact, he didn’t say anything to Armitage but he left the orbit of the table. Armitage desperately wanted to say that Ben had stomped away like a child but, to the other’s credit, he did not. His boots made a firm and mature clicking against the marble until the sound faded into the muffled steps on the rug.

Armitage cleaned his own dish and left Ben’s alone on the table. It would either be cleaned by a droid or by Ben himself. Armitage would have no part in any of the antics.

Instead he went to his study and set about looking over his designs for droid updates. His fingers pulled out notes and his eyes scanned them. Formulas and ideas were scratched and crossed out on each of the various pages. Infant designs based on Old Republic clone armor as well as trooper armor from the First Order.

Armitage, himself, had a hand in designing the look of his troops. They were representatives of himself and the First Order. When a planet was conquered or a society decimated, Armitage had wanted the last thought of those traitors to be that General Armitage Hux of the First Order was responsible for their submission. Galaxy-wide, he was known. Children would think of him as they saw his troops march down their streets and show them the truth of their pathetic existences. Men, women, and beings alike would understand they had been living a lie. They would either wake up and obey or die martyrs to a Republic that had never truly supported them.

Armitage pushed his hair back into the coiffed manner he had grown accustomed to as a general. It was harder, and pointless, to use a product to keep his hair properly styled. Armitage had dismissed the comfort within weeks of his exile. Now it was more prone to falling into his face. Not that he gave much of a care any longer.

Taking a lead implement, he began to note on the success of the waterproofing for his droids:

_LEP-0003 and -0010 returned before midday from town. Weather was moderately rainy with few strikes of lightening. Rumblings of thunder had no impact on the design. Waterproofing method 001 proved to work. However, I need to improve the structural design of the droids. While they have been maintained throughout the absence of permanent residents, they have not been structurally improved. Must look into improving the structure while keeping the appropriate operations intact._

_Structural design weaknesses: arms and legs cannot withstand the weight of what they are being tasked to carry. Could further contribute to weakening of other structures and functions._

Armitage pressed the writing instrument to his temple as he wracked his brain for solutions. He needed a metal that could support the total weight of the droid but also maneuver over the Arkanisian terrain in all sorts of weather. They needed to be able to traverse flooded conditions as well as stable land. They needed to be able to carry the food stores from town back to the estate. It was not a short trek. Armitage estimated it would take himself nearly an hour and fifteen minutes to walk there without carrying extra weight. If he could find a sturdier metal as well as increase the travel time, it would be more convenient. Then perhaps he could properly trust the droids to assist him in bringing in the firewood. It would give him a few more hours in the day and certainly save his body aches and pains.

It was then he realized he needed books from the first floor library in the engineering and history sections. Taking a notepad and his writing implement, Armitage left the study for the stairs and the library.

Luckily, and thankfully, the library was empty. Ben was not inside unlike earlier. The tension in Armitage’s shoulders dissipated as he reclaimed his space. Making his way to the end of the vast room, he placed his notepad on a desk as he began to search the shelves. His fingers strummed over the spines of the books. This section was the histories section. He started at the beginning on _Theories of the Creation of the Galaxy_ and moved toward _Recorded History of the Indigenous Peoples of Naboo._ He went to the next row and then the next until he landed on a large volume of books on the Old Republic.

Taking two of the large books, Armitage set them beside his desk before going to search for books on the Empire. It was when he set down the _Engineering Design of the Galactic Empire_ that he noticed Ben.

Ben was not inside the library but, rather, outside. It was from the wide windows that looked over the South Woods that Armitage could see Ben. He was walking from the estate toward the South Woods. The brown jacket adorned his shoulders and his head remained bare in the steadily falling rain. Like earlier, he could see that Ben was not wearing his holster. That assuaged his paranoia for the present moment.

Ben’s hands were in his pockets and he seemed to be walking to the woods without a purpose. Only the back of his head was visible so Armitage could not see his face. It frustrated him. Ben’s body language did not give him any information as to why he was going to the woods. With each stride, he moved further and further from Armitage’s sight until he had completely disappeared into the woods.

Something deep in Armitage’s gut twisted as it had months ago when he had first arrived. The man felt the urge to leave the room and leave the notion of Ben Solo’s presence. The books stacked on top of one another, finally completed by the stacking of his notepad, and Armitage swiftly exited the room for the confines of his study. Books hit the desk with a loud thump and his thin fingers turned the small lock on the door, sealing himself in with his books and forcing his thoughts into that of mechanical designs and the certainty of science.

* * *

His brain nagged him for tea. Actually the more appropriate feeling was his stomach nagging him for food. Armitage lifted his head and noticed it was growing quite dark outside. It would be time for his dinner soon as cued by his stomach twisting for food rather than for nausea. The nausea had subsided, he realized, when he distracted himself with his work.

Armitage had worked out the plan; he needed anodized durasteel sourced from the Arkanis sector planets where he knew there were mines that provided just the grade of metals that he needed. In the coming days he would send X-3PZ2 into town with the request. There were markets where providers often sold their wares or services. While he waited for the proper materials Armitage would make plans for further improvements to his droids’ transportation systems. He’d scrawled down ideas and plans for hours and was, for the moment, satisfied with the first drafts.

In truth he was glad for the break. His eyes were sore from looking at the stark white pages that had quickly become stained with the dark lead of his writing. His fingers and the sides of his hands were stained the grey of the lead from wiping at the paper or rubbing out a mistake. His notes weren’t perfect. It made Armitage long for the clean nature of a data pad.

He noticed the chill in the room and finally unlocked his door to check the second floor library’s fireplace. Sure enough the fire was dying. Armitage closed the door and went to change into his working clothes.

He’d grown so used to the solitude of the building that he’d forgotten Ben was residing there until he reached the basement.

The lighting in the estate was controlled by solar-powered illuminators. As soon as Armitage turned it on he saw Ben and the surprise caused him to flinch.

It wasn’t the fact Ben Solo was there. It was where his attention and hand were placed.

There was an unopened room no person nor droid had been allowed in since Brendol Hux had been the master of the house. There were rumors as to what it was used for by servants and guests alike. Behind the master’s back the servants told rumors of how a misbehaving manservant had been shoved into the room and returned without a tongue. Another rumor prevailed that Maratelle entertained her lower class lovers in the room in an effort to conceive a child. A final rumor concerned a certain kitchen woman’s disappearance after the delivery of a baby.

Rumors were rumors; some had value while others did not. All Armitage could feel upon seeing Ben near that room was utter illness. It hit him like the impact of a vessel onto an unforgiving rural planet. He instantly wanted Ben to remove himself from the area. He didn’t want him to open that door.

“Damnit,” cursed Armitage, fixing his cuffs and drawing Ben’s attention. The hand retracted from the doorknob. He was obviously damp from the rain. His hair had lost its buoyancy but retained its shine and passionate dark nature. His brow was lifted in acknowledgement of Armitage as well as surprise at seeing him. He lifted his hand in awkward greeting before shedding his jacket and folding it over his forearm. Armitage noticed his shirt was completely wet from the rain and stuck uncomfortably against his torso. Armitage’s eyes rolled. “What are you doing?”

He kept any notion of his feelings at bay; tucking it away as if it were in his personal files. He swore he could feel the slightest pressing against his temple. Armitage’s chest seized.

Ben, on the other hand, offered only confusion and skepticism. The jacket remained folded over his forearm. “Was exploring.” “Who told you that you could have access to that room?” Armitage questioned. “It wasn’t me.”

Hands raised and Ben gave Armitage the look of an irritated teenager. It only proved to exacerbate the latter’s annoyance.

“What were you doing on the grounds?” Came Armitage’s following question driving forward by curiosity and, dare he admit, fear.

Ben stepped from the door and closer to Armitage. His free hand slid into his pocket. Armitage despised the casual stance Ben was taking. The familiar fire of hatred burned within him. So he asked again: “What were you doing on the grounds?”

“Walking. Is that okay for you, _general_?”

Ben moved a hand through his wet hair. The right side of his face was almost completely covered. Armitage realized once again that the scar was no longer on Ben’s face. Another unanswered question. Too many things about Ben Solo’s presence triggered the twisting of his stomach, the sickness within, as well as his temper.

“There are certain rooms you are not permitted to enter,” Armitage carefully instructed. “If a door is closed to you, do not enter it. Communal spaces will be left open. Is that clear to you?”

Ben’s jaw tensed but he nodded instead of arguing. His shoulders rose and fell several times before, incredibly, another wave of calm seemed to change his physicality in its entirety. That did nothing to change Armitage’s own vibrating nerves.

He muttered a “pardon” as he moved beyond Ben and outside into the rain.

The ax was waiting for him against the stone exterior. Armitage did not recall grasping it nor the walk down to the woods. He came to when he struck into the first stump. Again and again he swung into the wood until it was cut into suitable pieces. The more he swung the more he channeled the sickness and the aggressive nerves into the motions. Armitage found his shoulders and back becoming exacerbated in a manner that, where he in a reasonable state, he would have quickly remedied.

The hour and ten minutes passed far faster than it typically did. By that time Armitage was on his final stump. The pile of wood had stacked to about his own height and to twice his width. The final stump proved to be the tipping point.

As he brought the ax down there was a sensation that seized his shoulder. The blade connected with the wood and stayed there as Armitage grasped his right scapula. The stump toppled over with the sudden forces, very nearly missing Armitage’s foot as it fell.

His fingers pressed into the muscle and the bone. There was stiffness as well as a point of tension that was building up in the area underneath the bone of his scapula. Armitage wracked his brain for a proper explanation but found nothing other than anger aimed toward himself. Foolish. He allowed himself to be hurt when he still needed to bring the wood in as well as distribute it to the proper fires. He was certain X-3ZP2 could handle that. He would have to.

Rolling his right shoulder a few times he concentrated on the rubbing of the tension against bone. It was the only manner in which he could describe it. Armitage could feel it better underneath his fingers. There was definitely something forming there and he was unsure of how to fix it. This wasn’t something bacta could fix, certainly. It wasn’t an open wound. Perhaps a sedative could fix it or heat from his bath.

Those thoughts were well and good but Armitage needed to transport the wood. He stacked more than he thought he could carry which was an accomplishment in and of itself. The first pile was brought to the door of the basement and Armitage called on the LEP droid that was stationed down there. He instructed it to bring the wood upstairs and then moved down the path to retrieved the second pile.

“Need a hand?”

Ben Solo’s deep voice startled Armitage to the point he almost dropped the entire stack. A curse was muttered underneath his breath as he locked eyes with Ben. Ben seemed cleaned up from before with a changed shirt that was hardly becoming of a gentleman, in Armitage’s opinion. In fact, Ben’s entire presentation was too casual. He seemed to recall a situation back on the _Finalizer_ when Kylo Ren had been interrupted from meditation to meet in his office. It had been an emergency discussion of the colonization of Kashyyyk. Armitage had wanted to finalize the occupation plan and sent for Ren. Ren had not come in his mask nor his cowl due to the lateness of the meeting. Armitage had recalled thinking that Ren did not look at all threatening in the black training attire. Only minutes into the meeting he had been proven wrong when Ren was quick to temper.

Now, however, Armitage dared to think in the same manner as the night of their meeting. He spent only seconds on the thought as he recalled seeing Ben near the door to the unopened room. His guards were up again.

“I’ve got it,” insisted Armitage though he felt anything but in control. His right shoulder was lifted higher than his left as he tried to offset the discomfort in his muscle. That only proved to aggravate the pain. As he spoke he realized how the tension was spreading from his scapula to his neck and jaw. Ben seemed to notice it. “I don’t mind. Here.” He started to take a piece as Armitage stepped backward in an attempt to get away from Ben. The darker haired man, in response, began taking the wood into his own arms and left a singular log between Armitage’s fingers. His shoulders shrugged and his head shook in incredulity.

“I can handle my own work, Re— _Ben_.” Armitage felt insulted by the gesture of good faith. Ben snorted, “And let me do nothing all day but try to get into locked rooms?” His head jerked to the closed door.

Armitage’s face grew hot. He put the wood on Ben’s stack and turned on his heel to retrieve the next stack. Ben was waiting at the door and took the stack with a pointed look. Armitage did not argue with him until he made the third trip inside.

“I’ve got this last one. Go about your night.” That was his order which Ben took with a nod. “Night,” replied Ben as he went through the hall with the wood and disappeared up the stairs.

If he wanted to then Armitage would have thanked Ben. He would have done that if he were a weaker-willed man.

Armitage thought of warm tea and a bowl of stew the entire final trip to and from the woods. His tongue instantly began to crave the taste of the vegetables and the meat that would add flavor to the broth and fill his aching stomach. The notion this was the last pile he would have to lug upstairs spurred him to walk faster.

The unmistakable and desired feeling of warmth hit Armitage as soon as he entered. It wasn’t the heat of the fireplaces but, rather, the heat of the kitchen that he had grown familiar with. LEP-0003 was waiting for him to take the wood upstairs. Armitage mindlessly let the droid take the wood as he walked toward the source of the warmth. His fingers touched the doorknob of the unopened door and instantly jumped back from the metal of the handle.

A wonderful smell invited him into the kitchen where he saw a medium sized pot of stew on the cooling burner of the stove. Armitage stepped closer to see the contents. Mostly vegetables with cooked leftover meat from the midday meal. Evidently some of it was missing and the evidence to that point was the ladle that rested in the middle of the pot. To the left, on the counter, was a bowl ready for food to be served inside.

The handle was cool as Armitage touched it. Curiously and suspiciously he glanced around the empty kitchen on the off-chance someone was watching and waiting for him. The gesture would be seen as kind by others. It was off-putting to Armitage. His droids were not programmed to cook. Armitage did not trust anyone other than himself to make his meals which was why this was such a surprise to him.

The thumping of mechanical feet on the ground clued Armitage into turning around. X-3ZP2 had entered saying, “Ah, Master Armitage, you’ve found the soup!”

“I have. X-3, you know who made this don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Your guest, Ben Solo, told me to inform you that he took the liberty of making tonight’s meal.” X-3PZ2 paused. “That was rather kindly of him, was it not?” The droid’s tone could be described as surprised. Armitage still struggled to believe the true capabilities of droids having emotions. If that was the case, he wondered what X-3 would think of his response.

“No. It was wasteful. If he made an excess and I had not eaten it, it would have been thrown out. Inconsiderate indeed. Inform him he is not to do that ever again, X-3,” instructed Armitage. The droid whirred then exited the room. As he exited, Armitage slowly and methodically spooned soup into his bowl. It was still steaming when he took the first spoonful into his mouth.

Marvelous.

* * *

The rest of Armitage’s evening was filled with soothing his aching shoulder in his bath. Neither the warmth nor massaging of the point of tension helped relieve the hurt. His head leaned back and he allowed himself to sink lower into the water. It could be that he overworked the muscle. It was damaged and it needed healing.

What Armitage needed more than anything was a low dose of sedatives. He brought a wet hand over his face and through his hair. The other task he needed to complete was shaving his face but the thought of using his arm and the shoulder connected to it made the task seem too much for how he currently felt. His green eyes slid closed as he focused on the bath’s warmth providing the necessary relief to his body. Armitage’s head tipped to the right side and allowed his thoughts to wander beyond the state of his body.

He would go to bed at an earlier hour tonight. It meant he would have to wake earlier to cut the wood but it was a necessary evil.

Again he touched his shoulder where it throbbed against his skin. His chest rose and fell evenly while his hand covered the blaster injury on what he realized was the same shoulder. If he focused hard enough, pressed into his skin hard enough, then Armitage could feel the puffiness of the scar. Mindlessly he moved his hand down his chest toward the scar on his thigh. Along the journey there he froze at his abdomen:

* * *

_His father’s hands were sharper than Armitage had originally thought. His knuckles fought against the confines of his skin as they were driven into Armitage’s abdomen. There was something else to them besides skin. Was his father wearing a ring? For the life of him, Armitage couldn’t remember if his father wore a singular ring or if he wore multiple. No, it couldn’t be. Rings didn’t puncture skin like that._

_It was a minor stabbing but it hurt all the same. Armitage could hardly react as he felt the air escape from his body. He swore that he vomited but he couldn’t be sure._

**_“Get up, Armitage. Fight back!”_ **

_His eyes raised to his father’s and Armitage willed himself to retaliate; to drive his own fist into Brendol’s face and to cut him as he himself was cut now. The most he could do was will himself to back away and cover his stomach. Pale little hands removed from the spot to show tiny flecks of blood._

_This time, instead of cowering, he clumsily stepped forward and aimed his open hand at Brendol’s face. The older man, of course, dodged and drove his fist back into Armitage’s stomach. Again, he heaved. The impact was deeper and drew more blood._

_When Brendol retracted, Armitage could see what it was. Durasteel knuckles with two-and-a-half inch blades. They wouldn't kill him but certainly do damage to his organs._

**_“Where is your head, boy? Use your head! Use it!”_**

* * *

****

Armitage’s eyes opened faster than his hand moved off his body. Water splashed onto the floor effectively making it a hazard to walk on. The man leaned over himself with his hands curling tightly into his hair. He inhaled sharply through his nose repeatedly as he forced himself to get a grip. He wasn’t a boy any longer. Brendol was dead. Brendol had left his scars but they faded. There was no need to force himself to relive any of it. He had survived and Brendol Hux was dead. Armitage had won.

The victory felt entirely hollow.

The water drained from the tub as he stepped out and towel-dried his body. Armitage caught glimpse of himself in the mirror and unconsciously covered the sight of his nude torso as he inspected his face. If he looked too closely, and he did, then he noticed the lines which had formed at the corners of his eyes and the circles which imprinted underneath his lower lids. It displeased him greatly.

As he laid in his bed he became all too aware of the grandiosity of it. His body was a small moon in comparison to the bed. Armitage could nearly feel the time ticking by with each anxious beat of his own heart. He didn’t recall ever feeling his heart like that and began to wonder if it was normal. An erratic thought predicting his own death crossed his mind. Armitage shot out of bed and went to his feet. Laying there would solve nothing.

Looking at the chronometer mounted on the wall, Armitage realized it had been two hours since he attempted to sleep. It was late at night and early into the morning hours yet he did not feel the typical urge to rest. He carefully stepped out of the room and let his feet take him toward the stairs.

Armitage didn’t recall walking into the study nor did he recall opening up the drawer where the locked box was. He only realized what he had done when he held the small bag of his own hair.

It wasn’t clear why he had sought it out. As he stared at the fine red hair he searched his thoughts for memories of Brendol that were not cruel.

Brendol had always hated him; that was something Armitage clearly understood. His birth was a stain on the old man’s reputation. He had been an embarrassment for decades especially as a young boy. He couldn’t help wondering how Brendol would have reacted to his actions. Then again, would he have been proud? Had Brendol ever been proud of him a day in his life?

His fingers nearly created a puncture in the clear bag. Armitage leaned against the desk and stared at it as if enraptured. Had Brendol himself cut the hair from his head? Did he tenderly touch his son’s head and whisper words of hope to him that would never be remembered? Had Brendol been filled with fatherly pride at the potential this new life would bring?

Just as quickly as Armitage had opened the box, he put the bag back inside and locked it. As he closed the drawer he realized his face was wet. He cursed himself for his weakness and swallowed back the emotion. He wouldn’t allow Brendol’s spirit the pleasure.

Hands in his pockets he wandered his way down the stairs to his room. With each footstep Armitage realized he was growing wearier. Good. Perhaps sleep would come to him sooner. As he stepped off the final stair he heard thumping coming up and defensively turned. Ben soon came into view and stilled as if an animal being intruded upon. The stare-down between the men was a mortifying moment for Armitage as he realized his cheeks were still wet. Ducking his head, he swiftly opened the door to his room and slid inside.

As he laid down to sleep he used the comforter to wipe his eyes and forced himself to succumb to the trappings of the darkness.

* * *

His body was used to the schedule he had set forth for himself. Armitage rose as normal and dressed for the downcast weather.

But as he walked outside of his bedroom he felt a warmth that was not typical of this early morning hour. The hall was warm. If he thought about it, he would even say his bedroom had been warm. At this hour the fires were normally either embers or completely extinguished and the air was full of chill. Armitage inspected the library fire. The doors were open and the fireplace was roaring with flame. Wood was properly stacked and, to his estimate, would last a day and a half. It was a hearty pile.

Curiosity that almost matched concern brought him upstairs. Again, that fire was also lit and going strong. So was the fireplace in the great hall. Armitage would not have to cut wood for another day or two.

Instead of gratitude for whomever cut it, Armitage felt panic. He couldn’t explain where it came from but the thought of another being taking over his task was disconcerting.

It did permit him to undress and change into his now-uniform white shirt and black slacks. Suspenders hooked onto his trousers and settled on his shoulders. Armitage felt comfort in the security of the clothing. For the moment it was the only part of his life that felt un-intruded upon.

It was too early to eat so Armitage informed X-3ZP2 to make him tea and deliver it to the first floor library. As he entered the library he came upon another unwelcome sight.

Ben was clad in the black shirt and trousers he had donned the previous day. A serene expression masked his face as he reclined on one of the couches with a book in his hand. Armitage could not see the title as the cover rest against Ben’s right thigh. His feet were covered by black socks and his right one rest on the bench of the couch. He seemed extraordinarily comfortable. It unnerved Armitage.

It was at his own movement toward the bookshelf that Ben greeted him, “Morning.” Armitage couldn’t help but notice how easy and casual the word came out of his mouth. It was as if their relationship had been too familiar instead of antagonistic. Like friends meeting again after a period of separation.

The notion he and Ben could ever be friends was laughable but Armitage concealed that perspective as he removed a book from the shelf: _Leadership of the Galactic Empire_.

He gave a curt nod in response to the pleasant greeting. Armitage rest in the seat opposite the couch and opened the first page. A familiar name greeted him in the index; Rae Sloane.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Ben’s voice interrupted his thumbing to the first page. Armitage barely lifted his eyes until the other man repeated the words much slower but with a point. He decided to be generous toward Ben and permitted a nod. “You did interfere with my routine.” A pause in speech. “Yet I have been meaning to read this book. I suppose gratitude is in order.”

He could tell Ben was pleased though he didn’t show much of it beyond the raising of his lips. Armitage returned to his book and began to read the introductory chapter. As he reached the second page he felt the knot in his shoulder start to throb. His facial muscles twitched and he rubbed the spot once before returning to the book. From the corner of his eye he barely saw Ben move more than his fingers to turn the page of his own book. On the tenth page, about ten minutes later, Armitage repeated the gesture and pressed into the knot. That earned him a grunt of discomfort and Ben’s attention.

Ben’s book closed over his fingers and his head turned to examine Armitage’s situation. “What?” “Nothing,” the former general responded, digging the tips of his fingers into his scapula. “Soreness. It will go away.”

“Heat helps,” offered Ben as he opened the pages again. Armitage noticed he did not give the book his full attention. Instead, Armitage was the receptive party. “It does for a time. But I think it’s more than that. Nothing a sedative can’t help.”

Ben earmarked the page he was on and set the book aside. Armitage almost blanched at that. He would have to smooth out the fold later.

“Don’t want to depend on those. I’ve seen how people get hooked on them.”

“I won’t get addicted.”

Ben scratched his face. Armitage noticed it was not as clean shaven as he was used to seeing. Somehow he could see the darkening of Ben’s cheek and jaw as well as underneath his nose. He never remembered seeing Ben with facial hair. In honesty, he couldn’t picture Ben donning the facial hair of a man. He was too used to seeing the petulant child lashing out to recall that he was actually only five years or so younger than Armitage himself.

“That’s what addicts say,” Ben pointed out. Armitage gave in and closed his book, resting it on his lap and memorizing the page he left off on. “And what do you say? Does the Force tell you how to heal aching bones?” The questions came out as jabs but Ben’s expression was serious. “I can heal it, if you’d like.”

His forearms pressed against his thighs as his body gave Armitage full attention. The former general wasn’t sure he preferred the full focus or the offer. The last time Ben had used the Force on him, Armitage had badly bruised his spine and was diagnosed with a slight concussion.

Ben seemed to acknowledge the emotion that crossed Armitage’s face. “If you’d like,” he clarified, “but you don’t have to.”

“I don’t.” Armitage’s voice was uneven. “I—No. _Thank you_.” It was as if he could feel the bruises again. It angered him. He took his book and stood seemingly without thought or direction. “I don’t need parlor tricks. Excuse me—“

The safety of his study was only feet away. He brought himself to the door and locked it after he concealed himself. Armitage remembered he had asked X-3ZP2 to bring tea to the library. To hell with it all.

His back pressed against the wood and the book fell to the ground. Armitage drove his hand though his hair as he slid to the ground. How dare Ben Solo step out of line. He had no decorum nor respect for the man whose home he was residing in.

Home. Armitage erased the word from his vocabulary. This wasn’t his home. Ben Solo’s mere presence and intrusion into the safety of predictability made it the prison it was meant to be.

Minutes ticked by and Armitage forced himself to rise and sit at his desk. The book reopened and the familiar name reappeared; Rae Sloane.

Allotting himself a sigh, Armitage found the certainty of science and politics a welcome refuge from the unknown of the Force-wielding man who could not seem to disappear from his life. He immersed himself back into the familiarity of the names he had grown up with. Armitage felt an ache in his chest that only grew with each mention of history. No books would hold his name. If they did, it wouldn’t be as a victorious commander of thousands. It would be as the incompetent and failed general of a perverted cause. And it was all Ben Solo’s fault.

He closed the book with force and scrubbed his hands over his face. The room threatened to swallow him. He felt a chill in the air and thought to open the door and let the heat in. But he decided against it. The comfort of the fire was something he didn’t earn.

Armitage leaned back in his seat and covered his face with his hands, hoping the skin would absorb the wetness and his shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments and feedback! I encourage you all to leave a comment as well as visit my tumblr to further any discussion or questions you might have!
> 
> The real fun starts next chapter. Can't wait for you to read it ;)
> 
> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

“When are you leaving?”

The question cut through the otherwise silent atmosphere. It was much later in the day and both men found themselves at the dining table together. Ben once again sat at the right of the head of the table where Armitage was seated. Both men had a plate of meat as well as a bowl of soup. It was Armitage’s staple meal; reliable and certain. Ben was pushing it around with his spoon in the way that suggested he was lost in thought and not too concerned with eating. Armitage’s question had most certainly drawn the darker haired man out of whatever occupied his thoughts.

His elbows left the surface of the table and were replaced with his forearms, all as if he were readying to negotiate. “Leaving?” Questioned Ben though he knew exactly what Armitage meant.

“Yes, leaving.” Armitage placed his spoon in the soup and went to cut at his meat. “You see that I am alive. I will not help you or the New Republic. You have your answer. You can leave. When do you plan on leaving?”

Ben’s reply was almost aghast. Now his elbows fully rejoined the table as he leaned closer in an effort to garner Armitage’s attention. It was a successful venture. “I’m not leaving anytime soon, Hux.”

Armitage was expecting stubbornness in this manner. “Why is that?” He asked. It wasn’t asked as patiently as he had thought. “Because you’re an asset and I think you’d do a lot of good in rebuilding the galaxy,” Ben responded measuredly.

“ _Good_?”

“I haven’t spent enough time for the others to be satisfied. They want me here for a week. Two at the most.” Ben punctuated his statement with a sip from his water glass. Armitage’s displeasure was reflected in the glass, distorted into a foul grimace by the moving liquid. The lump in Ben’s throat bobbed as he swallowed the liquid and awaited the inevitable furious reaction. It came.

Armitage dropped his silverware with a clatter. It didn’t cause Ben to flinch a bit.

“I’ll be damned if you’re here longer than two weeks,” sneered the former general. “You will report to your superiors what I have told you and leave within two days.”

The cocky way Ben shook his head drove Armitage’s temper through the wall. The black waves of his hair bounced yet remained perfectly in place. For a moment, the former general wondered if his own hair was too out of place. He wondered why it made him self-conscious in the first place and dismissed the ridiculousness of it all.

“Plus you can barely run this place by yourself.”

“I have my droids.”

Ben scoffed. “They’re falling to pieces. Outdated Empire technology that haven’t had a good update in years.”

“They have been maintained since the last head of household left,” countered Armitage. That did nothing to win the argument. It was a weak claim to make and it was one both of them knew did not hold up. The droids hadn’t been updated to today’s standards. It was almost outdated if they hadn’t been meant to be household droids.

Ben pushed his food aside and insisted, “You don’t have the supplies to fix them up. I can go into town and work a trade deal. I’ll help you fix them—“

“That won’t be necessary. At all,” Armitage edged in harshly. “I know how to engineer a droid. I fixed their tech, after all.”

The utter disdain with which Ben next addressed him triggered flames to boil in the apples of his cheeks. He could almost feel it in his bones.

“Not well enough to bring a pile of wood up the stairs without breaking apart.”

Bare hands slammed on the table, upsetting the food as well as X-3ZP2 who stood hovering near the doorway. An exclamation and whirring came from the droid but remained unacknowledged by the two human men now hyper-fixed on their disagreement.

“If I needed your help,” Armitage growled, “I would have asked for it.”

“You did need my help. When you were struggling to bring the wood inside.” Ben pointed out through a frustrated laugh. His hand pushed through his hair and caused the part to fall over the right side of his face. It almost entirely changed how his features were displayed. Armitage thought it made him look softer, younger than the darkening facial hair on his jaw and under his nose would otherwise suggest.

Armitage balled the napkin in his hand and threw it down on the table. “I’m done. We’re done here. You’re to leave in two days. That’s final. I don’t require any help from the likes of you.”

Ben’s chair scraped across the floor almost simultaneously to Armitage’s. “From the likes of what?” He asked confrontationally as he stood.

Armitage did not answer with anything more than a turned back and steps toward the door and the Great Hall beyond it. His hands balled by his sides as he strode past X-3. He gave an order to clean his own place and save the remainders for the next day then went toward the Great Hall and his own room. He ensured the door was locked before he changed into clothes for his outdoor work.

He was still fuming when he exited his room and went down the stairs. For a second he wondered if Ben would be waiting down the stairs or even at the basement. Another fear came to mind; what if Ben had disregarded orders and was opening the locked door in the basement to provoke him?

The fear caused his hands to shake. Armitage shoved them into his coat pockets to conceal the manifestation of this anxiety as he bounded down the stars and came to see Ben waiting by the fire. The flames illuminated his face in a manner that could be called aesthetically pleasing. But Armitage would never stoop that low to call it that. Ben was in no way aesthetically pleasing in the artistic sense of the word. He abhorred the fact that the fire did not suddenly reach out and consume him, turning him into nothing more than dust and ashes. It would have brought a smile to Armitage’s face.

“Everything is set for today. You don’t have to cut more wood for another day, remember?” Ben asked as if Armitage was suffering from memory loss. At least, that was how the former general perceived it. He could spit fire with the fury he felt.

Why was it that Ben pushed him to an angry reaction? What had he done since arriving that permitted Armitage to react in such a way? In truth he had been nothing but helpful since he arrived. He had given Armitage space and been respectful. But every time the former general looked at his former Supreme Leader, he saw a reminder of a past he would like to forget if at all possible.

It was then he decided Ben helping with the wood cutting had been a one-time allowance. Ben being at all helpful was a one-time allowance. Armitage would not permit it to happen again. Despite the soreness of his muscles and the pain in his shoulder, he remained firm in telling Ben he would not do anything to interfere in Armitage’s well-crafted routine. The expression on the former Supreme Leader’s face had been one of confusion as well as irritation. In his core, Armitage understood this was an olive branch. But he would rather see it burn than accept the repeated help of a traitor.

“—I’m not a traitor.” Came Ben’s response.

Armitage never forgot the abilities Ben possessed. Moments like this caused him to hate the man all the more. Had he been denying the pressure in his head as a stress-induced headache instead of Ben prying into his thoughts?

Ben’s response came immediately after his thought completed. “You’re too loud. Always have been.”

It was then he realized how comfortable Ben seemed in front of the fire. His stance implied being at ease with his surroundings. The display had unnerved Armitage to such a degree that he blurted: “Stop listening to my thoughts and listen to my words. I do not want you to assist me. I have a way of doing things around here and I will not have my routine interrupted.”

He observed Ben’s arms folding across his chest, his shoulders and his stance broadening as he took on a skeptical perspective. Armitage continued, “You have your information on me. I’m alive. I’m not coming with you. You can either leave or do not bother me.”

With that he had gone outside but not to cut wood of course. Walking through the rain toward the South Woods, Armitage was seeking the space away from Ben. Upon reaching the woods he realized it was easier to breathe. His lungs sucked in more oxygen as he walked through the wooded area without aim. His thoughts were lost and scattered across the forest floor. Armitage’s steps, too, became uncalculated. His hand pressed against the trunk of a tree and he ceased walking. It was then he noticed the rain was ramping up into a downpour. His breath came out in puffs of air which wafted and disappeared into the atmosphere.

Rainwater fell on top of his head in steady drips. The tree canopy created a partial shield from the worst of the rain but it didn’t prevent him from getting entirely wet. Armitage drew the hood of the coat over his head.

Many times he had offered Kylo Ren his help. He’d offered his own olive branch when he saw it would be more productive to work together than against each other.

Armitage had often dreamed of what the First Order could be. Under Snoke, it had been progressing at a steady rate. They would have eventually reached the heights of the Empire; perhaps even surpassing that. It would be wrong to say he didn’t picture himself as taking over from Snoke. Snoke wasn’t the political leader the First Order needed. Armitage had witnessed powerful men rise and fall as a result of their own respective hubris. But he had ensured he had no hubris. Yes, he craved power like all beings did in their own ways. Armitage would have liked to rule but he would have been smart about it. He would have appointed representative bodies that would report directly to him. He would have ruled with a harsh fist and quashed any whisper of rebellion. If fear had to be an implemented way of dealing with resistance, then it would. Soon all of the resistance would be crushed and the newer generations would rise knowing the good the First Order truly brought. Armitage would educate them. He would bring the galaxy true knowledge.

This dream—his true dream—brought him a moment of happiness in the midst of the rain. He lifted his head to allow the rain proper access to his face. One by one the droplets fell onto his hair and his skin.

_I am not a traitor._

Armitage’s eyes opened and a disgusted sneer curled his nose. He knew a traitor when he saw one. Not once had Kylo Ren ever fully followed his orders. Everything had to be a result of the Force or of Snoke’s orders. After Snoke’s death, it was the Supreme Leader’s word only and any other was blasphemy.

If Ren had listened to him, the First Order would have triumphed over all. Neither of them would be in the state they were in. In another world they could have even worked together with mutual understanding and respect. But Ren had never respected him. Why should he give Ben Solo the benefit of the doubt when Kylo Ren had not earned it in the first place?

His fist slammed against the trunk of the tree once, then twice. Then three and four times did his hand hit the rough bark. He couldn’t trust Ben Solo. It was not there nor would it ever be there. Armitage needed to bide his time until he left his life forever. Enough time would pass and then Ben Solo would leave. He would never think of him another day of his life.

* * *

Ben Solo, it turned out, did not leave after a two days. He didn’t even leave after a week. The two weeks that followed did not bore him enough to provoke him to leave either.

Even Ben Solo had a routine. Thankfully it did not involve Armitage. He’d made it quite clear that he wanted nothing to do with the Force user through action rather than words. When he had returned from the woods, he did not make eye contact or conversation. Armitage dealt with any questions or requests through X-3ZP2.

Of course Ben had tried to speak with him personally at first. Many times he would try to stop him before he went outside or into his study. Armitage even thought that Ben had tried to stick near the library to speak with him. Once he had interrupted Armitage’s meal with updates on the New Republic. The poisonous words reached his ears and Armitage was up from the table muttering about his readings. It wasn’t entirely a lie but it was an excuse to push past Ben and leave him alone in the ballroom.

Being left alone with Ben Solo provoked an anxiety in him that Armitage would have rather not dealt with. He didn’t want to hear a whit about the New Republic or how the galaxy was changing and the balance was restored. He honestly wondered if Ben believed that nonsense himself. He was so gullible he might as well believe the garbage propaganda that had been shoved down his throat by his mother since the day he was conceived.

Armitage had begun to take his meals and tea in his room or his study. In fact, if he were not outside then he was in his study. His designs and plans for updating his droids was pushed to the side. He took to reading his father’s papers more and more as well as reviewing old reports of Commandant’s Cadets training practices. He wished he had the foresight to save his own notes in the way his father had. Armitage’s were destroyed now; particles in the middle of space or floating into the nothingness over Exegol.

The chaos of the past year had certainly done damage to his memory. One night Armitage had been unable to sleep and thought to write down his training methods in the manner his father had. But as soon as he put pen down to paper he struggle to recall the differences to his father’s training methods. The improvements and strengths he had made to the trooper program were now lost. Even his own muscle memory had failed him. If he had wanted to recall the physical movements, it was nigh impossible for Armitage to perform.

By Ben’s third week of staying at the estate, Armitage had nearly removed sleep from his routine altogether.

The truth was, the longer Ben stayed, the less likely Armitage was to rest. The quieter the estate was the more he heard. The more attuned his ears became to the smallest noise. A droid in the basement would be moving about and Armitage would not be able to shut his eyes from where he attempted to rest on the second floor. A footstep on the stair would jolt him from his studies and cause him to not refocus until the stepping had ceased.

Silence had never unnerved him. It was what came after the silence that prevented him from being at ease.

Armitage wasn’t able to pinpoint the moment where fear of murder came into his brain. The seed had planted weeks ago but it was impossible to tell when, exactly, he began to wonder if Ben would pick up the ax and end his life. Another thought struck him in the middle of the night where Armitage dreamed Ben entered his room and drove his lightsaber through his chest. In the glow of the red light, Ben’s face and Pryde’s face melded together until finally the twisted combination spoke. It was Brendol’s voice.

Needless to say he spent the rest of the night in his locked room.

Now it was ridiculous to think Ben would kill him when he had said plenty of times that he was not there to harm Armitage. He was there to report on him, yes. But he didn’t need three weeks of observation. Armitage had been firm from the beginning and every time Ben had mentioned the Republic that he would not go with him. He was bound to the property, now.

That didn’t mean Ben wouldn’t force him off. He had the capability to. He could use the Force to render him unconscious and take him off-world. It was just as easy for Ben to do that with the lift of his brow or the twitch of his finger. And if Ben Solo could survive the utter annihilation of the Final Order and the Emperor, what’s to say he wouldn’t take Armitage Hux back to Chandrila in chains?

What’s to say he wouldn’t simply kill him when he was tired? That was the end result of this entire charade, wasn’t it? Neither would bend to the other’s will so it would only end in death. That is how all conflicts ended.

As the weeks passed, the number of meals taken went from three to barely two. He sustained himself on tea and caf as he spent hours over his desk working on plans for ideas that would never come to fruition. His mind buzzed and it was as if the nerves were jumping out of his veins. If he did sleep, it would inevitably come to him but none of it was restful. It was as if Armitage simply blinked and morning came. His body pushed itself to eat a single meal either right as he woke or at the end of the day. Of course he prepared his meal himself.

It had been a mistake to allow Ben to make the soup for him. Any amount of trust given was trust that could have gotten Armitage killed.

He avoided Ben as if he were a deadly disease. His ears grew attuned to the sound and pressure of Ben’s footsteps on the floor and the sounds he made; how he breathed, how he opened or closed doors. On nights where he would return to his room from the study, he swore he could hear Ben speaking to someone.

He had said, after all, that he had to report to his superiors but it didn’t relieve the shock of it. Armitage hadn’t given it much thought until he could hear Ben’s low voice muffled from the closed door. It did not take much time for him to discern the words. His own name was mentioned time and time again as well as vague phrases that related to his status. He swore he could hear Ben arguing about whether it would be worth bringing him to Chandrila. The words would go muffled for a time and he would be attuned to the word “dead”.

Dead. That is how Ben wanted him. It was how the Resistance—now the Republic—wanted him. Every single being in the galaxy wanted him dead.

He’d seen it time and time again when he was able to close his eyes. He could see the guarded building he was housed in being overrun and being dragged through the burning remains. Bodies would be scattered around him, yes, but he wouldn’t care about them. They had brought him to this; to being thrown in the street and beaten until he could feel every broken bone in his body poking at his organs and his skin. He would be able to feel the ripping and tearing inside but unable to hear anything above his own screams of pain. He would be hung in the street, yes, but then ripped down before Death could take him in its sweet embrace. He would be tortured for days and paraded through the streets. Finally, he would be executed in front of the entire populous.

Would Ben Solo be alive to see his life finally come to an end? Would he watch knowing he had orchestrated the entire matter?

It was then he stopped listening and exiled himself to the safety of his quarters. Never before had he spent so much time alone. The room was large, yes, but each day that passed it was as if he could feel the walls closing in on him. It was ludicrous to think non-moving structures could do such a thing. When Hux stared too long at the walls or the windows, his brain queried if it was possible the room had been that small only hours or even minutes previously. Armitage wondered if his bed had always been that large. His frame felt smaller, more fragile as he laid down in an attempt to sleep properly. It was as if he were lost on a vast ship; doomed to floating through space and time until he finally expired.

He would not be lost here. He wouldn’t allow it.

One night, in the late hours when he heard no movement from Ben’s room, Hux ventured to his study. He read only by the light of a singular illuminator on his desk. His eyes began to grow heavy halfway through the book and he set it aside. His fingers slid off the cover of the book and wandered to the drawers of the desk, absentmindedly pulling each one open for hardly a second and then promptly closing it.

His long fingers ceased at the bottom drawer. The bottom drawer was deeper than the previous ones. Never before had Armitage opened it. He hadn’t wanted to after seeing the box his father had kept hidden underneath the false panel. He feared other secrets he could uncover; secrets he wished had been buried and left to rot with time. He wished this place had not survived at all; that Maratelle had burned it down in her fury and betrayal. Then, perhaps, he would not have to bear witness to the legacy his father had left behind.

Armitage was hardly an overtly-curious man. Curious by science, yes indeed. Curious by the secrets of his family, he was not. Yet he could not stop the movements of his fingers as he opened the drawer. Neither could he stop the movements of his body as he abandoned the chair to kneel before the bottom drawer.

Papers, of course, were organized in only a way that Brendol’s mind could understand. Perhaps by alphabetical order? Dates set to numerical importance? Armitage could never wrap his mind around how his father’s brain worked. Then again, he supposed, his colleagues looked at him much the same way in regards to his particularities.

Mindlessly, he took a few stacks and set them around where he knelt. Armitage shut the drawer and sat with his back against it, considering which stack to look through first.

Many of them were redacted. He wouldn’t expect anything less. These were his father’s personal documents, after all. While they were in his unlocked desk, the old man needed to keep private information private in the only way he knew. Brendol Hux’s brain was the safest place in the galaxy for sensitive information, regardless of how much of a braggart he became in his later years.

His fingers grabbed hold onto the first stack of papers and he glanced through. There didn’t seem to be much of significance; simply briefings on the Commandant’s Cadets as well as possible training improvements. Some things were redacted such as names and specifics. Not even contextual clues could inform Armitage of what his father had been writing about. No matter. If it had aided the First Order, then he would have to be satisfied. It was the sole solace he took.

He placed the papers back down on the floor after he had finished each one front to back. He took the next stack and leaned his back against the desk, his knees drawn up to support the papers he’d finished.

This one was of a more personal nature. Instead of typed and printed from a comm, these were in Brendol’s personal handwriting. Torn from a diary, perhaps? Or, rather, scrawled notes from a man who needed to expel the thoughts the plagued him. The potential explanations were endless. Armitage knew he had to press on.

Though his eyes were tired, Armitage could not mistake the mentioning of Maratelle’s name as well as her comings and goings. The way her name was written, he noticed, was rushed and imperfect; a striking contrast to Brendol’s typically neat handwriting. Everything regarding Maratelle was almost illegible but he was able to comprehend that Brendol was tracking her movements as well as any spending. Three pages were devoted to his wife’s elaborate spending and decorating of the estate. Another page and a half were devoted to the events they hosted for members of the Imperial elite. Armitage did not miss the mention of Enric Pryde’s name. Unfortunately, it stood out as clear as day to him.

The final three pages seemed to be the same until, it was, that a redacted name caught his attention:

_Medical droid informed me, today, of M-----‘s condition. She is with child. Testing is to be done within the day to determine the parentage._

M. Certainly not Maratelle. She had never had children, from what Armitage so clearly knew. If she had, he certainly would not exist now.

What Armitage knew of his mother was next to nothing. He had been told she was a kitchen woman who had served his father for nearly a year and a half before she suddenly disappeared. It was unknown if she had been transferred elsewhere or if something else had happened. He hadn’t cared to ask. No one spoke of her except to disparage Armitage or Brendol.

He didn’t feel pride when his mother was mentioned. He also didn’t feel anything missing in his life due to the fact he hadn’t had a mother. Noticing the redacted name, however, did pique Armitage’s curiosity.

His thumb swiped across the line after the letter ‘M’ as if he could reveal further letters that were hidden by the ink. Foolish. He realized it after the third swipe and promptly ceased the movement. His eyes, growing wearier as the clock ticked by, moved to the next paragraph:

_M------‘s pregnancy is confirmed. Fetus is in the third month of gestation. Levels and tests indicate it is developing into a male. Lung development is less than exemplary. Weight seems to be similar. M-------- was found with tea made from the black cohosh herb. Further tests indicated she did not consume the plant. Fetus has not been harmed. She will be monitored closely to ensure the pregnancy is not terminated._

He did not allow himself to feel moved. He didn’t permit himself to feel much of anything. These were simply more words on a page. A foolish woman who had gotten herself in a situation above her control. She had behaved like an idiot and had elected the easy way out.

Armitage swallowed any bit of emotion that was not disdain. He would not allow it.

There was a brief knock and the door swung open. Armitage barely had time to move to his feet and ready himself when he saw X-3ZP2 standing.

“X-3!” Came his exclamation, his hands going to his hips and his frustration, as well as his surprise, coming out in a huff of air. The papers scattered by his feet. The droid briefly looked from the papers to his master. “My apologies, sir. I merely came to find you.”

Armitage’s head shook, his hair bending over his right eye with the movement of his head. “Yes, well, you’ve found me. Is the building on fire?” He asked crossly.

“No, sir. Not that I am aware of.”

“Then spit it out.” The former general stepped over the papers to move toward his droid. He hoped there would be no mention of them.

“Tea is waiting for you, sir, in your rooms. I saw the light still on and thought you would like a cup.”

Appreciation was brief. Armitage’s arms went behind his back and he gave a nod. “I will take my tea in my room, then. Let me finish here and I will return within five minutes. Stay at the door. Make sure no one goes inside, X-3.”

The droid turned and did as he was told. Once Armitage was alone, he gathered the papers and organized them justly. One stack at a time was placed back in the drawer but he saved the pile he was reading, the pile about ‘M’, for last. He reordered the pages correctly and placed those on top, eyes lingering on the stack before shutting the drawer.

He smoothed his shirt and trousers before turning off the illuminator and closing the door behind him, not satisfied until he heard the ‘click’ of the door shutting.

The tea was a welcome sight and he took it standing. It calmed him almost immediately as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach.

“Will that be all, X-3?” Armitage asked after precisely three sips of his tea. The droid whirred, “No, sir. In truth, I wished to see how you were.”

That came as surprise to the former general. “Why is that?” He asked, the cup firmly held between his hands.

Another whirring from X-3ZP2. The droid stepped closer into the room and closed the door behind him; a choice that Armitage ultimately appreciated from the droid. He hadn’t considered how loyal X-3 was before. Then again, this was hardly a show of loyalty to anyone with a sane mind.

“It has been some time since I saw you around the estate, sir. You haven’t taken your meals in the ballroom or been to the libraries. Many times I’ve found your guest there but never you.”

Armitage paused before drinking from his tea cup again. He sat on the edge of his bed. “When you see Ben Solo, what is he doing?” He asked, bringing the cup to his mouth again.

The droid’s movements were stilted as he seemed to look around him, confirming that the door was closed and they were alone. Armitage could sympathize. It even caused him to listen closer to what the droid had to say.

“He takes walks outside of the property,” said X-3. “Towards the woods, sir. Sometimes he will not return for hours. He takes his meals in the ballroom at the table. I’ve seen him in the library on the first floor.”

Armitage’s next question was immediate: “Have you seen him on the third floor at all?”

“No. Not there, sir. I have hardly been there myself until today in search of you.”

That did little to settle his nerves. A hand came up to rub at his jaw and chin, scratching over his beard. “Has he spoken to you?”

“A few times, sir, to inquire about your condition. I hardly know anything as you keep to yourself. I tell him as much as I know and nothing more.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Do not mention any facet of this conversation to him.” Armitage paused. “Have you seen him in the basement, at all? The lowest level.”

X-3 replied, “Only as he is preparing his meals, sir, or if he is going for one of his walks.”

“Very well. Thank you, X-3. You are dismissed.” Punctuating the sentence with the motion of handing over his tea, Armitage rose to move closer to his droid. X-3 whirred again as he took the cup.

“There is something else, sir. I did not know whether to bring it to your attention, but I feel it is my duty to inform you of matters that concern me.”

Armitage’s arms fell to his sides as he waited for his droid to speak again. His eyes widened with impatience to clue X-3 into continuing. “There have been times where I have heard your guest, Ben Solo, speaking. I was not aware we have further company.”

“We don’t. And I’m aware of it.” Armitage’s voice lowered with his next request. He even stepped closer to the droid as if there was any way they could be overheard in this private room. “What have you heard him say?”

“If I am being honest, sir, it isn’t much of value.” X-3’s tone was hardly as low as Armitage’s but just quiet enough. “He speaks of his daily goings on. Your name has come up but he doesn’t have much to say. He’s expressed the frustration that he cannot seem to contact you.”

Good. This pleased him more than anything. His self-isolation was working. Ben could not, for whatever reason, touch him. His vigilance was paying off, as well.

“If he mentions anything that is of concern, you contact me immediately regardless of what I am doing. That is a strict order, X-3.”

The droid whirred in response. “Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Make sure the basement door is locked. You know the one.”

X-3 was silent but due to his master’s stern look, he nodded. “Anything else, Master Armitage?”

Armitage’s head shook and he stepped back, ensuring the cup was placed securely in X-3’s hand. The droid turned and left his master alone in the partly lit room.

* * *

After precisely three and a half hours of sleep, Armitage rose to get on with his day.

This time, as he reached the woods, he realized his day’s predictable routine would be once again interrupted. His grip on the ax tightened when he spotted Ben Solo coming from the South Woods just as he arrived at the border.

The black hood was removed from Ben’s head and it was the first time in weeks Armitage had gotten a look at his unwanted guest.

He looked, unfortunately, healthy and well-rested; as if the oppressive rain and gloomy environment had not affected him. He stood as sturdy as Armitage had ever seen the man before. His face was no longer clean shaven, much like his own, but it didn’t seem to be out of neglect for grooming. In fact, nothing about Ben seemed unkempt. It served to light the fire in Armitage’s veins.

“What are you doing?” Armitage asked when he was close enough. The ax’s full weight bore down on his hand. He felt his arm flex to handle the weight.

Ben’s expression barely moved. His hands moved in toward his pockets. The hand holding the ax lifted only an inch or so. “What are you doing?” Armitage asked once again.

“Walking,” Ben replied. His voice was clearer than Armitage had remembered. The weight and might of the door had stifled much of Ben’s tone. Now it was as clear as the woods after a storm.

“So early in the morning?” Questioned the fairer haired man.

Ben’s response was to scoff and place his hands on his hips, squaring his shoulders. He nodded to the ax in Armitage’s hand and asked, “Don’t you think you’ve cut enough? You’ve got piles inside.”

It was true; Armitage had been overly diligent with his morning and evening wood duties. The dense forest provided enough wood. Generations of trees scattered the property. He knew which to cut down and which to leave. In the past month and a half, he’d made sure to use every bit of wood the fallen and old trees provided. That resulted in stockpiles. Still, the predictability of it all kept his mind from crashing into insanity. The feeling of purpose, of the ax in his hand, gave him a reason to not descend to total madness.

“There is always work to be done,” was Armitage’s response.

“Not today.” Ben’s eyes scanned over him. It was more than unnerving. “All you do is work.”

Armitage’s expression hardened. “I have a household to run.”

“You can stop working for a minute. An hour.”

“I don’t think any of that is of your concern, Solo. In fact, I think you should take your concern and leave.”

The amusement on Ben’s face was not what Armitage had expected. Kylo Ren would have cut off his air supply for such a response. Ben seemed more peaceful than that. He didn’t like it one bit.

Armitage asked again, “What were you doing here? Besides walking. You don’t just ‘do’ things.”

“I don’t,” confirmed Ben. That prompted Armitage to question, “Then why were you walking in the woods around the time I happen to be here.”

That question was direct, honest. No use beating around it. He imagined Ben had observed his routine and had it nearly memorized by now. It wasn’t a coincidence that he was here at the same time. There was always a motivation behind a being’s actions.

Ben was quietly staring at Armitage, seemingly lost in his own head and the possibility of answers he could give the paranoid, former general.

“There’s something I want to show you.” Ben stepped backwards, his feet pressing into the earth and over twigs as he moved back toward the South Woods.

Armitage saw through him. “I have work to do.” He repeated as he raised the ax to show Ben, who seemed unmoved. “And I’m showing you why I was here. Come on.”

“If you’re going to kill me, I prefer you do it honestly and not through deception.”

The only sound that followed was the landing of raindrops on the ground and the leaves of the trees. Something low and not quite rumbling reached Armitage’s ears. He realized it was a chest-based laugh from Ben. This time, he wasn’t sure how it made him feel. He held onto the ax as if it were the shield from the potential danger this man brought with him.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Ben replied, “I would have done it weeks ago.” He turned around and began to disappear in the thicket of trees.

_If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it weeks ago._

Armitage stared after Ben’s retreating figure. Without knowing why, he let the ax fall onto the ground and followed after the younger man. His hands pressed into each trunk, each tree he passed. The bark was growing slick and damp from the rain but it hardly mattered. Armitage stepped over rocks and fallen leaves that had changed from lush green to ashen yellows and reds. His boots crunched over the debris as he took longer strides, catching up to Ben within a few strides. Ben’s head briefly turned over his shoulder to acknowledge Armitage then resumed looking ahead at the unmarked path.

Armitage recognized it well; the last time he had walked this way he had found out his life’s work had perished.

The view of the lake on this day was something he couldn’t quite describe. Fog had begun to roll in from the north and create low cloud coverage on the opposite end of the bank. He could hardly see the trees or mountains in the distance. The water lapped thirstily at the edge of the lakebed. It induced a calming effect on Armitage. Momentarily he forgot that Ben was even standing by his side as they looked out over the water. The fallen tree trunk was still there; hardly different besides the moss which had begun to cover it. Death and decay had not taken the full structure. It was as sturdy as it had been when he had sat reading against it.

Ben stepped to the edge of the lake and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Rain rolled off the brown leather jacket he wore. The black hood hung to the middle of his shoulder blades. His head was positioned at such an angle that Armitage could not call him threatening. Rather, the image Ben invoked was one of a fine statue he had seen in government buildings or in images of the Emperor’s Palace. A fine marble, a fine statue. He forced the thought from his head.

Armitage did not step directly beside Ben but, rather, at an angle so he was able to see the movements the man would make. It allowed him the time to properly react and the space to defend himself if needed. He recalled how he had dropped the ax. That put him at a disadvantage, but Armitage was his father’s son. He had been trained in self-defense as his soldiers had. It was one advantage for a normal opponent but hardly for a Force-user.

Ben’s voice broke him from his mental preparation. “Dany was right. This would have been a beautiful place to kill you.” He seemed to sense Armitage’s confusion and chose this opportunity to look at him squarely. “DH-1460.”

“She told you.” It was not a question but a confirmation. Of course she had. She probably told them how Armitage had asked her to end his life. He wondered how that had gone over.

“I wasn’t surprised.” Had Ben poked in his head.

“You’re too loud,” Ben responded. “Louder than you ever were before.” He turned his body to face Armitage and removed his hands from his pockets. “Nothing. I’m not going to kill you, Hux.”

“Why won’t you?” Armitage’s voice rung more clearly than it had in quite a while. Despite its clarity, there was a roughness to it as he begged the answer to the question. “Why else are you here? I will not yield to you, Solo, nor to the Republic.”

He witnessed Ben’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathed. “I told you before. I was curious how a bastard like you ended up surviving when everything else was destroyed.”

The boldness like no other surged through Armitage’s frame. “And how did you? How did you survive?”

There was no witty response from Ben this time; no bravado or knowing more than he seemed to let on. The cards weren’t held by either of them. Ben’s eyes cast down on the dirt and the grass then he looked at Armitage again. Something had shifted in them.

“—You’ve been hiding away from me. You’re scared of me.”

“I’ve never been scared of _you_ ,” Armitage shot back. “I haven’t been hiding.”

“Avoiding, then.” Ben stepped toward Armitage. The latter took a step backward. It only proved Ben’s point. Armitage’s chin lifted in defiance. “I won’t have you accusing me on baseless observations.”

The corner of Ben’s mouth twitched. “Your droid is a talkative one. Loyal but talkative. Mentions how you only leave your room to keep the stockpiles of wood in check and then lock yourself in your room all day and all night. You barely eat. I’m surprised you’re standing here right now. Thought I’d see a ghost of you.”

Armitage was alarmed by the bluntness of the words but he realized it was typical of Kylo Ren to speak such. It was strange to hear it coming from the man who called himself Ben Solo.

Ben continued when Armitage did not speak. This time, his tone was softer and perhaps even gentle. “I’m not your enemy, Armitage. We’re not fighting each other. You don’t need to bunker down in that old house. I’m not here to invade; I’m here to make peace.”

Peace. The notion was absolutely ridiculous. As if he wanted to make peace with Ben Solo.

“The fighting is over with. There’s nothing left to fight for.”

Armitage nearly gasped out the words, “You’re wrong.” It was as if he were riding on his last breath. “There is always something to fight for.”

“The First Order is _dead_. Let go of it!” Ben exclaimed.

“And do what? Pledge my allegiance to _you?_ You are the reason I’m here. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your obsession with the Jedi, your personal weakness and your failure to be something you never were born to be!”

Ben’s reaction was muted. He accepted the honest response. “I am the reason you’re here,” he confirmed calmly. The calmness was more unnerving than the heated exchange seconds prior. “Kylo Ren wasn’t. Ben Solo was. But Ben Solo is not asking you to forgive Kylo Ren.”

Armitage’s shaking had not subsided. “Then _what_ is Ben Solo asking me to do?”

The sound of water lapping seemed to be the only thing keeping him in reality instead of in the past. He clung to it to ground him into the moment.

Ben’s answer was more quiet than Armitage had thought. It was meeker, almost pleading. “To trust him. Ben Solo is asking you to trust him.”

It seemed as if they were arguing in circles. “How do I begin to trust Ben Solo? Why should I trust him,” Armitage questioned. He watched as Ben’s palms turned over, showing their emptiness. For a second he feared a sudden movement would send him into the lake, his head forced underwater until all the air escaped from his lungs. But the thought was fleeting.

“Because I haven’t killed you. Not now, not when I got here. Kylo Ren would have killed you if he saw you that day.” Ben’s head shook, his hair falling into his eyes. He promptly brushed it off his face.

Armitage could see the honesty in his eyes. It was an honesty Kylo Ren had never held in any expression. Desperation and passion marked Kylo Ren’s personality. He was ruled by his emotion and his impulsivity. It was true that Kylo Ren would have ended Armitage’s life the minute they saw one another that day on the front lawn of his property. If he hadn’t killed him that day, Kylo Ren would have killed him at the first disagreement or other opportunity. He wouldn’t have acquiesced to Armitage’s orders or requests so easily.

Ben Solo could be biding his time. All of this could be a trick to lure him into a false sense of security.

But Armitage could not separate the peace that Ben seemed to be carrying within him. He was utterly open; his body language showed as much. His words were as honest as he could detect. Armitage considered himself to be experienced in dealing with disloyalty and liars. He had found them out and snuffed out their lives at the first opportunity. There was nothing he could sense about Ben Solo that dictated such action.

Ben spoke again. “You’re not going to trust me right away. You never have. But I’ll earn it.”

“How will you earn it?”

The response was more than unexpected. “Fixing your droids.”

He almost laughed. Armitage truly almost laughed at the absurdity. “You think that will earn my trust?”

Ben’s reaction was not defensive. It wasn’t scrambling to cover his own back. If anything, he seemed determined. “I know it will.”

He looked up at the sky and the rain which had been falling around them. When he looked at Armitage, he offered what the former general could only describe as a pleasant and knowing smile; as if the former Supreme Leader knew something about the future that Armitage could only speculate on.

“I’ll see you inside, Hux,” Ben responded, stepping around him to return to the woods. “I’ll take the ax with me.”

Armitage turned as he watched Ben disappear into the woods, that damned smug smile plastered on his face.

Left alone at the edge of the lake, Armitage took stock of how he was feeling. The shaking had subsided but something inside of him felt flipped on its head. It didn’t mean his suspicions had completely abated but there was a change in him toward Ben Solo.

Just what Ben intended to do to gain his trust he did not know. But rather than the desire to lock himself in his study and immerse himself in the world he was familiar with, this journey into the unknown had taken him by the collar and forced him into this uncharted territory.

Armitage took a breath and took a step, following Ben back toward the estate.


	7. Chapter 7

�

It wasn’t that Armitage didn’t believe in Ben’s mechanical skill. He knew for a fact that the former Supreme Leader had not let anyone work on his TIE-Silencer besides his own personal droid. The ship was fast and deadly in battle, just like its pilot. Offhand, he couldn’t remember how many confirmed kills the TIE-Silencer had but he was more than certain it neared the hundreds. Despite any hits it may have taken, the damage was always efficiently repaired within a day of the particular battle. Kylo Ren, and Ben Solo in return, was a skilled mechanic.

The fact simply was that Armitage Hux, who fancied himself an amateur practical engineer, did not like to be proven wrong.

Armitage had insisted on being there while Ben did his work on LEP-0001. It was still raining so they had to seek shelter in one of the four rooms in the basement. It resided closer to the stairs and further from the kitchens. Armitage had used it when updating his droids. Or attempting to update them, according to Ben. The room was properly furnished for engineering; a tools bench pushed against the wall, a tool cabinet, and various wires and power connectors that Armitage was not sure how to use in their entirety. When it came to massive feats of engineering, he preferred to plan and leave the specificities to the experts. He knew basic engineering such as upgrading systems and basic maintenance. The rest he left up to the experts they had pulled in from other planets in the galaxy.

The LEP droid beeped as Ben began to work on him. He took it apart apart panel by panel and examined the structure of the droid. It was merely seconds into working that Ben sat back on his haunches and looked over his shoulder at Armitage. “Can you maybe stop hovering over me like that?”

“Like what?” Armitage’s arms were folded over his chest and he had been pacing back and forth behind Ben. The request from Ben wasn’t absurd, in theory, but he took it as such.

Ben’s hand waved as he formulated his words. “Like that. Like I’m defusing an explosive. I’ve got it from here,” he insisted.

The fairer haired man was hardly convinced. “You don’t want to cut the wrong wires. I need my droids in working order.”

“And you’ll get them in working order if you let me work.” Ben picked up his tools and pried past wires and plates.

Armitage noticed how skillfully his fingers moved past the tech in order to find the issues. While he did not move from his place above Ben, he did cease pacing in favor of peering almost entirely over his shoulder. Ben’s hands lowered and he slowly turned to face Armitage, his brows lifted and eyes pointedly asking for space.

He lifted a hand and took one step back. Ben returned to his work and began setting down a panel and pulled out two wires, followed by three more. They were frayed and clearly old; only maintained and not updated properly for the new age. Armitage wondered just how skilled the techs who came to update the droids had been; evidently their care for maintenance was slim to none. Now that he thought about it, those techs had not come to check on his droids since he had arrived on Arkanis. Perhaps DH-1460 had told the public about his residence and insisted no one approach the manor. Or, perhaps, they simply were tired of trekking to the estate and simply decided to stop coming.

“Here’s the problem. I knew it.”

Ben’s voice brought Armitage out of his thoughts. Despite the silent request for more space, he chose to kneel down beside Ben in order to get a better look. The wires were sparking and fraying. They were more than close to completely becoming inoperable. Armitage’s brow crinkled and he leaned his folded arms against his propped up knee.

Ben pointed with his electric tool toward the inside of LEP-0001. “The wires are fried. I think there’s something about the circuit. It’s overworked. Stressed.” He rubbed the tips of his thumb, middle, and forefinger together as he reached inside. There was a spark, yes, but it didn’t seem to affect Ben. In fact, Ben’s face was drawn in concentration as he absorbed the shock and continued to work.

“Do you need new wires?” Armitage questioned, angling his head to get a better look at Ben’s handiwork. It was nigh impossible, as was Ben’s ability to answer properly. He repeated, “Do you need new connective wires?”

Ben responded, “I need to see if I can even salvage these before I consider new ones. I need to take a look at the circuits and see how they’re doing.” His body shifted and he angled his face closer into the droid’s insides.

Armitage didn’t like sitting there and doing nothing. As Ben repositioned himself he ended up kneeing Armitage’s right leg that was propped upward. Both men locked eyes out of brief annoyance then Ben returned to work. Armitage took that as a cue to stand and move away from Ben.

Instead, he went to the tool cabinet as well as the walls of cables and wires that were wrapped up. His spare mechanical waterproofing parts were also organized underneath the bench. His fingers traveled over the cool metal absently as his eyes checked over the neat bench. He was always meticulous with his tools; everything used had to be put back neatly where it had been before. If he needed material for next time, he would stack it neatly where he could reach it. Every room needed to be put back together. To himself, Armitage began to count the waterproofed metal he had left. Once he counted, he recounted.

Ben’s voice brought him out of his third go-through. “You don’t need to stay here the whole time I’ve got it.”

It was true. Armitage didn’t need to be making himself busy in a room he had no purpose being in. He didn’t need to watch over Ben when Ben was the practical mechanic of the two.

“I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. Make sure you don’t get frustrated and destroy any of my things,” Armitage cooly responded.

“I won’t destroy anything.” The response was punctuated by a sharp shock to Ben’s hand. He drew it back and flung his hand about, cursing and batting at the droid with his hand. Armitage’s brows lifted toward his hairline as he watched.

Ben glowered and sat back on his haunches. His hands smoothed over his trousers, effectively dirtying them. They didn’t seem to be nice trousers in any regard; not like the ones Armitage wore. However, the elder man hated to see good clothing go to waste. He retrieved a rag from a drawer in the tool cabinet and tossed it toward Ben. It didn’t land on the floor. Ben’s hand lifted to catch the rag in the middle of the air. If Armitage looked close enough he could see a disturbance in the air. It almost shimmered or, rather, bubbled and reflected in the illuminator’s light. It was a sight Armitage could never quite describe no matter how many times he had seen Ben perform his feats of the Force. Nevertheless, he was unnverved.

“Can’t you _just_ catch it?” He asked exhaustedly. Ben’s index and middle fingers crooked in the rag so it landed in his palm. He wiped his hands and dabbed it against where he had dirtied his trousers.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben questioned, setting the rag in his front pocket. His eyes were examining Armitage. “You don’t like it.”

It was the former general’s turn to snipe. “Unhappy memories.”

Both of them seemed to be reliving the same moments simultaneously. LEP-0001 beeped quietly and Ben reached inside to, effectively, turn the droid off. “You deserved it,” he said, his eyes on the inside paneling of LEP-0001.

Armitage, who had been leaning against the bench, stood straight to attention. “You were too obstinate to listen to me. Too determined to be right.”

“Well, I was right,” Ben said distractedly, leaning more into the droid. He muttered to himself as his fingers scoured inside and resumed their work. “Most of the time.”

He was beginning to find Ben’s comments asinine. “You wave your hand and you get your way. I hardly find that something to be proud of,” Armitage rebutted.

In fact, Ben’s reaction was one of muted pride. “You would act the same way if you were like me.”

“I am _not_ like you.”

He had taken two steps forward and his finger jabbed toward Ben. Ben halted to acknowledge Armitage’s advances toward him. Again he leaned back on his haunches and cleaned his hand with the rag that had been unceremoniously bequeathed to him. It was growing dark with oil or rust; Armitage couldn’t quite tell which was which anymore.

“No,” Ben easily acknowledged, “you’re not. But you’re not better than me.”

“What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ben’s dirtied hands lifted for peace. Armitage’s voice had been raising and he realized it echoed in the smaller room. Again, he asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Armitage knew Ben wasn’t much taller than him; by three inches, to be precise. He hardly felt small around the other man in the time they’d worked together. Still, he did not like to feel measured up against. His eyes bore into Ben’s as the man treaded nearer, daring him to react unfavorably. Despite the mission of peace and curiosity, their relationship had hardly changed at its very core. And whose fault was that?

He denied it was his own. He would deny it to the day of his death. He would deny Ben Solo of everything he could.

Another thought came to him as his green eyes tested Ben’s brown in a silent battle of wills. If he had trusted Ben not to kill him in the woods, why was he denying the beginning of a new partnership between them? Why was it so hard for him to let go of Kylo Ren and accept Ben Solo?

“For one,” Ben said, “you’re not good at caring for your droids. External upkeep, sure. Internal? You’ve got issues there.”

His first reaction was to be appalled, of course. It was the bitterest of pills to swallow. It felt hard in his throat; agonizing as he forced his ego to accept he hadn’t done everything to ensure efficiency.

Ben took a step backward and gestured to LEP-0001. “Do you want to see why I’m right and you’re wrong?”

Slowly, Armitage took in a breath and let it escape his lungs. His shoulders rose and fell with the exhale. The knot in his shoulder returned with a fury. He felt a twitch in the scapula and then another, of pure irritation, in his temple. Ben waited for his verbal response. Armitage did not give that to him but he did step forward and kneel before his droid.

“Fine. Show me what I can do.”

* * *

If he had to admit it, which he did not want to at all, Armitage would have admitted that Ben had given him good advice on how to check for these internal signs of wear and tear. He’d tried to listen and to not react unfavorably to comments on his mechanical skill.

“I’m a planner,” Armitage responded when Ben commented on how he’d missed an exterior sign of wear and tear. “I’m better making the schematics than the daily upkeep.”

That had earned him an eye-roll but at least it was honest.

Ben showed him how to properly check the wires and circuits of this particular droid. It made sense Armitage didn’t entirely know; he’d never been given proper training on how to maintain these droids. A military man, especially a general, wouldn’t need to know such mundane tasks.

He hadn’t gotten his hands dirty but Armitage could almost feel the grime on his skin as if it had leapt from Ben’s body to his own. They allowed LEP-0001 to move out of the room before Armitage closed the door behind both himself and Ben. Ben’s hands went in his pockets as they both moved toward the kitchen. He allowed Armitage to take the lead and idly mentioned, “The rest of your droids probably have the same issues. I can check on them if you’d like.”

The offer was carefully extended. Armitage noticed hesitance as well as something else; was it reluctance? Or was he merely projecting his own reluctance to accept help from Ben?

Swallowing a pill was the correct phrase to use as he worked his response. “If you could.” He quickly added, “I’ve work to do. I can’t see to checking all of my droids at once.”

Ben was pulling open drawers and cabinets in the kitchen as he responded. “They don’t all have to be fixed at once. Oh, and I can fix your waterproofing, as well.”

That grabbed Armitage’s attention. “What’s wrong with my waterproofing?”

“Nothing,” Ben said. “Well, not much. It’s pretty good, actually. But it can always be improved.”

Armitage had gotten his caf and tea out and was boiling the water for both. “I know it can,” he said as he found the tea leaves and the bags. He delicately removed the leaves and placed them in the bag. He tied the bag off and placed it in the tea cup then paid attention to preparing his caf.

While his actions were occupied by making his caf, he couldn’t help but reflect on how this had been a stepping stone toward working together. Trusting Ben with his droids was huge, in the former general’s opinion. They were the key to the estate running properly and to his own sanity. From what he had seen, Ben wasn’t intentionally sabatoging anything. Had this paranoia all been an almagamation of his distressed mind? Was he holding too tightly onto the past?

Armitage fixed his caf and briefly had the idea of making Ben a cup as well. The thought quickly vanished as he observed the other man making his own cup of tea, his nose scrunched in disdain as he could not find anything to sweeten it. “No wonder you’re always in a bad mood,” muttered Ben as he finished closing the cabinets and drawers. “Why do you like it bitter?”

“Why do you like yours sweet?” Countered Armitage, turning and leaning against the counter as he held the cup of tea in his hands. Ben’s eyes went from the tea to the caf. There was a perspective that Armitage could not quite place. Did he think him ridiculous for the two hot drinks?

“If it’s too bitter, there’s no point. You don’t enjoy it.”

“I happen to enjoy my tea bitter, thank you.” As if to prove a point, Armitage drank from the cup and did not show one iota of disgust. Not that he would, anyway.

Ben sniffed in response. The unsweetened mug of tea rest between his fingers. A shame that it would go to waste. A perfectly good bag and leaves could not be used. Armitage nearly glared at the other man from over the rim of his cup. The only sound that filled the void was the pattering of rain outside. It had the potential to be peaceful were the air between Ben and Armitage not so tense.

It wasn’t tense as it had been earlier when they were outside when all Armitage could think was that Ben was walking him to his death. Thinking back on it, Armitage had felt almost as if he were outside his body; viewing himself walking with Ben to the scenic lakeside. It had almost been a description out of a book. It was almost unreal.

This entire situation seemed unreal. Never had he even thought that Ben Solo would interfere in his life. Months ago, when Ben had crossed the foggy path to his land, Armitage could have sworn he was hallucinating. The isolation had finally gotten to him, he’d tried to justify. He wondered if Ben felt the same way upon his arrival; if he walked the trek thinking he was seeing a phantom spirit. Did he hope to find Armitage alive or was he simply chasing a former life out of an unresolved guilt?

By the time Armitage had finished his tea, his caf had cooled significantly. It wasn’t unpleasant to taste but he wished he hadn’t lost himself in his thoughts. The minute he’d set one cup down in favor of the other, Ben broke the silence.

“I was wondering about the estate.” He hadn’t touched his tea one bit, Armitage noticed. Not once had he brought the cup to his lips. He wondered if Force users could wave their hand and conjure sweetener. If that was plausible, however, then Ben’s plans for galactic domination would have been more successful. If all he needed to do was summon things out of thin air, then they wouldn’t be where they were. It was a stupid thought.

The former general drank from his caf. Satisfying. Deep. Warm. “What do you want to know about it?”

“I’ve only gone to three of the floors,” continued Ben, “but there’s four.”

“No, there’s three.”

“Four,” Ben countered. He gestured to their surroundings. “This one. The main floor above, the one where my room is, and the one above. And there’s a hell of a lot of rooms.”

Green eyes focused on the caf in his grasp. “Yes. It was meant to entertain and house a certain number of guests,” Armitage educated. “It belonged to my father and to his father before him.”

“I didn’t realize your family was originally from here.”

“They weren’t.” Armitage’s attention focused to the doorway, half-intending to end the conversation there. In truth, he didn’t entirely know where his grandfather was originally from. Much of his family’s life was unknown to him. But that much he knew was true. “He was a soldier. He settled here and then became a politician. He liked coming here for peace and quiet. He had this house made. My father said they wouldn’t come here much until after my grandfather died.”

Ben took in the information given to him. “Your grandfather was in the Senate?”

Armitage nodded. That much he knew for sure. His father had made sure he hadn’t forgotten it. “For some time.”

Ben’s posture shifted and he placed the cup down. _A waste_ , Armitage couldn’t help but think. The darker haired man folded his arms across his chest. “Seems convenient for your father to be transferred here and for the Academy to start up so close by.”

“Sometimes that is just how it works, Ben.” Armitage drank from his cup. It was nearly empty now. Another long sip or three more quick sips would do it.

“And he met your mother here?”

Damn the caf. “Don’t.” His eyes were hard. It was as if he’d given off a wave of energy to ward Ben away. A bare hand lifted in defense. “Fine. Just making conversation.”

“Then make conversation about something else,” Armitage instructed, setting the cup down. He was already feeling the caffeine working through his bloodstream. He set about washing the cups and putting them away. From the three feet behind him, he could hear Ben collecting his breath and his thoughts.

“Okay, okay,” came the inevitable words, “then something new. Why are some doors locked?”

Armitage’s eyes could not help rolling. “A locked door typically means you shouldn’t pry.”

“You did say that I could, as you said, ‘explore’ the estate.” There was a bad attempt at mimicking Armitage’s voice. It wasn’t funny in the slightest.

Armitage closed the three-foot gap between them by one-and-a half feet. “There are rooms that belong to me and me alone. You don’t go in them because I don’t want you there. I didn’t want you here in the first place and yet here you remain. I told you when you came here that you needed to respect the rules.”

“And I have. Obediently, patiently,” Ben recited. He was still relaxed. _How_ was he still relaxed and un-phased?

“Patiently pushing my buttons, Ben, as ever.”

He could almost hear the other man mocking him. He thought about calling him out on it but then realized it was all a creation of his own mind. “There are places here I would prefer to keep to myself. Don’t question me or my privacy.”

“There’s a reason you’re so touchy about this place.” Ben unfolded his arms, opting to put them in his pockets. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

Armitage’s brows furrowed in confusion. Ben continued. “You treat it like the _Finalizer_. You treat me like a subordinate. Everything goes to your rules.”

“It’s my house.”

“It’s your father’s house,” Ben pointed out. “Y’know, your droid does a lot of talking. Might want to reprogram that if you don’t want me to know certain things. Or question certain things.”

His droid. “X-3ZP2.”

He watched as Ben stepped to the side, getting out of the line of fire as it were. The former general felt very much aware of his status as prey. It was the first word that came to mind as Ben looked over him. He wondered if there was malice behind the words he spoke and the mysterious way he addressed him.

“He says you’ve told him to keep certain rooms locked away from me, to prevent me from going places I shouldn’t and to read things I shouldn’t. ‘What kind of things’, I asked him.”

“You’re prying.”

“Making conversation so I don’t go insane waiting for you to see that you can’t stay here any longer.”

Armitage bitterly snorted. Ben ignored it. “You can’t. This place is a shrine to your parents. Your father. You’re just serving it.”

“Enough!”

“There’s a hell of a lot more good you can do away from this planet. Away from your fucking father—“

Armitage’s fist punched against the counter, creating a loud thump as well as the metallic banging of cookware. Ben’s head turned to the result of the collision. The clanging continued to fill the void of sound until Armitage collected himself. He was most certainly not calm as he addressed Ben. Rather, his fury was spilling out like molten lava.

“How many times will it take for me to make you understand that I would rather burn than join you. No matter how many times you ask, nor how many droids you repair, I will not join you. Even if you were to hold my life in your hands, I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of obeying!”

“Then there’s good you can do that doesn’t have to serve your fucking father!” Ben exasperatedly exclaimed.

“You’re one to talk! You continue to serve your mother.” Armitage shot back. “Dead in the ground and you think by continuing her legacy that she will forgive you for who you really are.”

This was what caused Ben to lunge forward, grabbing Armitage’s shoulder and shoving him against the counter. As his hips and lower back collided with the counters, he was more than certain he would bruise there. It wasn’t comfortable at all.

“Don’t talk about my mother when you were the one who wanted her dead! You got what you wanted, didn’t you, Hux? She’s dead! She’s dead, but she won! And you can’t stand that because you’ve lost everything!”

The vile nature of his voice, his words, reminded Armitage of Kylo Ren. But this time, he wasn’t scared. His chin lifted in defiance.

Ben’s shoulders heaved. “You lost, Hux! I won and you lost! You can get over it and either work together with me or rot here like the gutless man you are! Your last fucking chance!” A hand drove through his hair as he paced a few times then faced Armitage once again. His fingers seemed to be scratching at his palms. For a split second, Armitage imagined a lightsaber flying from another room and igniting itself in Ben’s hand. He envisioned the heat of the crackling blade as it drew closer to his skin, as it cleanly sliced into him. As it killed him.

A small voice whispered inside for Ben to do _something_ ; throw him against the wall, close off his airway. _Kill him_.

_Yes. Kill me. Take me away from this place. End the maelstrom inside of me. Cut off my air and let me breathe again. End my suffering._

Armitage’s chest was heaving while Ben’s fingers pushed into his shoulder and chest.

**_I knew it._ **

Ben’s eyes were wild. Ben’s eyes were unsteady. They held the threat that at any second, he could lose control and fulfil Armitage’s deepest wish.

_End this storm in my head. I can’t escape it._

“I won’t hurt you.”

The wildness in Ben’s eyes began to fade. His words were small at first. Then he repeated them and, at the same time, loosened his grip. One by one, Armitage could feel the pressure off his body. Ben’s hand fell back to his side, flexing and closing as if working through some unknown feeling, while his eyes remained fixated on Armitage.

“I won’t hurt you.”

If Ben had lost his manic energy, Armitage had almost certainly received it. “You already have.”

He felt as if he were standing far above, staring into the dark brown void of Ben’s eyes. He wished they could suck him inside and take away all feeling. It could be seamless if they tried hard enough; if they tried _together_.

“I won’t.”

“You _have_ and you _will_.”

Armitage didn’t know where those words came from. Panic broke through him like a dam flooding through a town. Like the power of Starkiller Base shooting toward the Republic. He felt destructive. He wanted to destroy this, all of this.

“Armitage--“

The man’s hands pushed against Ben’s chest once. Ben barely moved. Armitage shoved again and this time, Ben did move. “Stop it,” the taller man insisted.

“You didn’t kill me back then. Your only choice now is to kill me.”

This mania was taking over his brain like a parasite. The air coming in and out of his lungs created an unsteady filter with which he saw the world around him.

“I— _want_ you to.”

“You don’t mean that.” Ben’s voice was at his lowest level. “You don’t.”

“You’ve done it so easily before. Ended the suffering of so many. End mine.”

Armitage’s arms widened, holding out as an offering to the executioner. “You’ve dreamed of it so many times. Just as I’ve dreamed of killing you. When I’ve dreamed lately, I dream of you. I dream of a moment like this. Ending this. You _ending_ me. Haven’t you thought of it since you got here? It’s the only way this will end so _why_ don’t you end it already? Fucking end this cycle, Ren, _fucking end it_.”

The desperation clawed out of him. His arms shook as they remained apart in offering. He waited. He would offer no resistance any longer. It all came flooding to him; his father’s papers, the picture of himself as a newborn, the lock of hair kept so tenderly in the box, and, finally, the censored name of the woman who had given birth to him and the knowledge that she, perhaps, did not even want him to have lived a minute outside of her very womb.

Ben’s expression was one of complete and utter shock. There was no pretense behind it; only honest shock and near horror at the hysterical state of the man before him. “Armitage—“

He swore he could hear the name echo in his head.

“Get out of my head. Get out---!”

Ben’s right hand covered his shoulder while his left pressed into Armitage’s chest. He felt his body seize up beyond his control. He went rigid. For a split second he believed that Ben had done it; Ben had somehow stopped his heart. He waited.

There was an inhale of breath from Ben. It was pained but focused. Armitage felt something moving inside of him starting from his chest to his shoulder. It forced a blanket of calm in his muscles. The tension, the agony in his shoulder and his hips were almost instantly taken away. Not entirely ‘taken’ but, instead, transferred. They pulled from his body and retracted toward Ben; toward the man who was not killing him but, rather, healing him.

His breathing escalated to a point where Armitage didn’t think he had any air left in his lungs. His knees buckled and his weight was forced against Ben’s chest. Ben’s arms caught under Armitage’s to support him somewhat upright. Both men ended up kneeling on the floor of the kitchen. Only the drops of rain outside filled the void of uneven breathing.

Armitage’s hand came to clutch Ben’s shoulder while the man’s voice urged him to breathe. It wasn’t as soothing as one may have thought but with a few repetitions he gave himself over to the commands. It wasn’t against his own will, no, but rather for his own good. Ben’s voice reverberated throughout his being and ingrained itself into his head until Armitage thought he was creating Ben’s voice out of the power of his own thoughts.

Eventually his body went limp. His body was tired of fighting. It needed to heal.

There was much between them that needed to finally, after all this time and all these cycles, heal.

* * *

Tea was to be the main meal of the day, he supposed. Ben had brought some bread from the kitchens to accompany the tea. Armitage needed to eat. It would set his body back on track of operating normally, especially after what he had just experienced.

It reminded him of how he had reacted to certain treatment as a boy; how his chest and throat would tighten when confronted with his displeased father or with superiors who saw him as nothing but disposable.

While Ben had done his part in provoking the fight, Armitage saw that he was making up for what had happened with small acts of servitude. Bringing Armitage back to a state of calm had been the first. The second had been giving him proper water to drink and getting him to the semi-privacy of the first-floor library.

Armitage didn’t quite recall how they both climbed the stairs or if either of them spoke. Ben, it seemed, was content to be silent as he made sure Armitage reclined on the couch. The former general was grateful for that, as it turned out his head was spinning from lack of proper oxygen. His hysterics were unbecoming of a man of his station. He’d started to make a comment to that effect when Ben rather unceremoniously told him to shut up and drink his glass of water.

He didn’t argue, for once. There was no reason to.

Ben returned a few minutes later with tea and bread, setting the cup and plate on the table running parallel to the couch. Armitage didn’t verbally thank him. He didn’t need to.

Ben settled on the chair opposite, his thumbnail being gnawed on as he watched Armitage pick at the bread and drink both water and tea. Armitage’s green eyes lifted periodically. Eventually, he set the crust of bread down and sighed, “I’m quite fine.”

“No, yeah, of course you are. Of course.” Ben muttered behind his thumb, his eyes darting away from Armitage and his throat clearing. His legs shifted so one was under his body and the other dangling from the chair. It was almost child-like; as if Ben were afraid he would get in trouble.

Armitage had finished his tea by the time he was ready to say the two words: “Thank you.”

Ben’s eyes moved back to him from where he had been staring out the window. His head nodded up and down and his throat cleared again. He seemed to be preparing to speak. Armitage, who was reclining on his side facing Ben, nodded his head to signal he had given his attention to the other man.

“---On Exegol, I died.” Ben shifted again, his dangling leg bouncing. He was looking directly at Armitage. “I realized that everything was wrong. I royally fucked up. _Really_ fucked up. My mother had...died earlier. I felt her go. She reached out to me one last time. To us one last time.” He lingered on the ‘us’, Armitage noticed. The former general’s posture straightened entirely. He gave his full, square attention to Ben.

“All of it was futile. It wasn’t…it wasn’t who I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be Snoke’s puppet. I thought I was doing the right thing and making someone proud.” Ben’s head shook from side to side as he seemed to delve inward. “I ended up being Palpatine’s puppet. I always had been. He was—he was the voice in my head all that time. He’d been there ever since I could remember. I was trying to prove my worth to him, not to myself.” Ben’s exhale was nearly bitter. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who I am without that voice. I was too scared to find out. My father was gone because Palpatine wanted him gone. And I needed to make him proud. My mother was what I had left. I—I could never kill her. And there she went.”

His throat closed. “She was gone. It was like I could see her.” Ben’s eyes grew distant and clouded. “I could feel her go. She wasn’t in pain. She just—released.”

As he said the word, breath released from Ben’s lungs. It was uneven and signaled the coming of emotion. Armitage’s posture straightened even more. Both legs dangled off the couch as he gave Ben full attention. It was as if he could see the events passing through his own vision; as if he had been omnipresent while it was all happening.

“I went to Exegol. I wanted it all to end. Rey needed me. Two halves of the same whole.” A faint smile crossed his lips as he recounted it. “She’s so much stronger than I ever could be alone. We needed each other to defeat him. Turns out I could only help so much, but I gave her as much of me as I could. She gave everything.”

He wet his lips and lost himself in the memory. Ben’s expression faltered.

“The galaxy needed her. I don’t know what I thought. If there was one thing I could do—one good thing I could do—it was to bring her back. There was more she could do. More good. I had my chance and she—she wouldn’t waste hers.” His hand flexed on his leg as if showing what he did. It moved to his own abdomen and rest there. Ben did not say anything more.

Armitage felt himself enraptured yet also paralyzed by the tale. It seemed untrue and fantastical. But Ben’s retelling proved it was anything but a myth. Ben’s face, his actions, his entire being once again proved Armitage wrong.

“There was darkness, yeah. There was nothing. But then I felt warm. It was like—like being hugged by your mother. My mother was hugging me. Smiling. It was like when I was a baby.” His head shook in disbelief, his hair bouncing only just. “And then I felt my whole body warm up again. And I saw her. Rey. And my mother and Luke. And all of them.”

“All of who?”

Ben met Armitage’s eyes again. “The Jedi. ‘Thousands of lifetimes live in you both, now. You are our keepers.’” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His hands released their tension, closing around his kneecaps. “I was given the chance to do something good. I don’t know if I deserve it, yet; my mother’s life for my own. Turns out that was what she was waiting for. She didn’t come to me until I woke up again on Exegol. It was then I knew.”

He seemed to come back to himself, back to the present. “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing or if it’s right,” Ben admitted. “If bringing you back to the Republic is the right thing or if the right thing to do is to leave you here. I don’t know why I agreed to do it, either. You’re not a good person. Not good by Republic stance, anyway, but you’re useful. And maybe that could lend some good. But after _that_ , I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring you back. You don’t want to go. I don’t know if it’s something my mother would do. Hell, even my father didn’t do that. Don’t know if he would dream of doing it no matter how much I fucked up.”

Armitage was silent as Ben went on and on. He opted for staring at his tea cup.

“I don’t know if I know the right thing anymore. Not when it comes to you,” Ben admitted.

Armitage summoned his response. “We have very differing ideas of what is right, Ben.”

“So, I guess, we’re never going to agree.”

Armitage’s shoulders shrugged. But instead of frustration, he could not help but look genuinely amused. “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve hardly agreed with you more than five times. Who’s to say I’ll start now?”

That got Ben to laugh. Then, Armitage laughed. The two of them could not help it.

Outside, the rain pelted on the roof and the property around them. The fire crackled contently in its place. The laughter evenly died down and the two men were looking at one another.

“I don’t know what to do next,” Armitage admitted. His hands folded on his lap. “Nothing is keeping me here. Pryde is dead. Everything I ever knew is dead. Yet I feel as if I can’t leave. As if I don’t want to leave this place. I can’t understand it. I don’t know if I want to understand it.” He paused. “I don’t think there’s anything out there for me. I’m not sure what is right anymore, either.”

Ben leaned forward on the tops of his thighs. “Maybe there doesn’t have to be a right or wrong,” he offered, the thought naturally arriving. “There can be something in the grey.”

“Is that entirely possible? A grey area?”

A log upset itself in the fire, knocking itself from the pile yet not scattering the flames far beyond the boundaries of the fireplace. Both men turned their heads toward the sudden sound. Ben looked at Armitage, the right side of his face illuminated by flame.

“It could be. If we try to find it.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Armitage responded honestly. “With you, it’s hard to know if I can entirely trust you. I’ve got good reason to feel that way, you understand?”

Ben nodded. “I understand. But if you don’t, then we’ll never find that grey.”

Armitage’s eyes traveled from Ben’s face to the fire then back to the man’s face. He considered the options; perpetuate the torturous loop he found himself backed into again and again or delve into the grey void that Ben was offering and even willing to explore with him.

Silently, tersely, he offered his hand. He considered Ben’s lack of reaction until he leaned over the table and took it, squeezing their palms firmly together.

“Into the grey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!! <3 
> 
> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter 8

These things took time. Both men knew that, despite a shaking of hands, their trust in one another would have to be rebuilt from the ground up. Not that there had been any foundation for their trust in the first place. Snoke had been the weak binding agent. With his “death”, any trust between then had permanently been destroyed. Now that it was the two of them alone without any true cause to bring them together, they had to discover their own reasons for trusting in each other.

It was the small things that quelled the mistrust brewing in Armitage’s chest. Mainly it was the fact that Ben would encourage him to be around while he repaired and updated the droids. He would constantly ask if Armitage wanted to watch and learn from him. Armitage wouldn’t entirely help with the defensive, bitter comments made under his breath. It was all a force of habit. But the biting, bitter nature of their previous relationship would never truly go away. In fact, as the days began to pass, Armitage wasn’t sure if he wanted that to go away. It was a comfortable way to address Ben and to keep him at an arm’s length. Yes, he had agreed to give Ben a chance at a pseudo-friendship but letting go of what their previous relationship had been was proving as difficult as he thought.

At the end of the month on a particularly stormy night, Armitage found himself slumped in a chair by the library fire with a cup of cooling tea on the table beside him. His head leaned on his hand and his elbow on the arm of the chair as he stared into the reinvigorated, roaring fire. He barely felt the warmth despite his proximity to the flames. Instead he was delving into the recesses of paranoia that had been stoked earlier in the day. It seemed as if he simply couldn’t help how the voices in his head whispered of Ben’s imaginary treachery.

What had Ben done for him that day? Ben had taken it upon himself to rise earlier than Armitage himself and go to collect the firewood cut and stacked from the day prior. It was Ben, in fact, who suggested stacking them under the relative coverage the stone overhangs the estate provided. Armitage had risen as he typically did only to find a wet Ben standing at the doorway in the basement having brought in the final armful of cut logs. In response, Armitage had made them both tea. He’d even made a comment about sweetener arriving in next month’s provisions. The look of surprise that had crossed Ben’s face and he had thanked Armitage, still taking the bitter tea and grimacing only a little as he swallowed it down.

Though the majority of the day had been calm and they conversed casually, there came the pervasive thoughts that plagued Armitage as he quietly worked in his study. Surely Ben could not keep his promises; surely he was playing the long-game and this was all a trap.

This time, Armitage was determined to ignore the paranoia. He vaguely recalled his father voicing similar thoughts as he aged. Brendol had surely started to lose his mind. Armitage would not permit himself to follow in Brendol’s footsteps.

He opted to remain quiet during his and Ben’s shared dinner and decided to sit in the library rather than confine himself to his study. Instead of a book or papers to distract himself, Armitage forced himself to confront his thoughts as they appeared. They plagued him like a relentless attack from the enemy: _Ben will take you away the moment you let down your guard. You are weak to assume he will follow along with this truce. There is no grey. There has never been a grey. You are a fool._

“Armitage?”

Armitage blinked the thoughts away and turned his head. Ben stood mere feet from him, a book under his arm. The flames warmed his pale face, bringing much needed color and life to his cheeks. Months without the sun truly took the tan pigment away from the skin. Ben, from Armitage’s recollection, had been born on Chandrila. It was certainly sunnier than Arkanis. Just about anywhere was sunnier than Arkanis. Ben had never been tan, per-se, but his skin had a healthier hue to it than Armitage’s. Now it seemed they were evenly matched in physicality. Ben had even neglected to shave as Armitage had, though both of their respective beards and mustaches were at reasonable lengths. Ben’s hair had slightly grown as well though Armitage was certain Ben did not realize. Armitage was observant to a fault. It was the curse of growing up with an overtly observant father and step-mother.

“What is it?” He asked. The question did not come off as harshly as it would have in the past. He turned his body toward Ben as the man came over, his full body illuminated by the light of the fire.

“I was wondering if it was you.”

That set Armitage off, slightly. “Who else would it be?” He asked haughtily. “A droid?”

He was met by an amused expression on Ben’s face; the smallest of smirks but still prevalent on his handsome face. The dark facial hair highlighted each movement of his facial muscles, giving a new structure of Ben’s face that Armitage had only unconsciously thought about. Without the noise and business of the First Order ship, he had no choice but to analyze the details of Ben’s face and accept how he was not the petulant young man he had met nearly six years ago. Actually, he would always be petulant. Armitage wouldn’t dare give that up.

“You never know. I could have programmed them to be more human-like,” Ben commented off-handedly. He moved to sit on the couch that was opposite Armitage’s chair, one arm hanging off the back of the couch in a casual way.

Armitage bristled at the very thought. It caused Ben to laugh in a very understated way in manner Armitage would only have missed if he hadn’t been looking at Ben and caught the mirth in his face. “Think about any of those droids as even vaguely human-like. Go on,” encouraged Armitage. He looked at the book that had settled on Ben’s thigh. “What are you reading?”

Ben’s attention split between the book and Armitage. His long fingers tapped on the cover. “It’s a log of the Galactic Empire. All of the events that happened while Palpatine was emperor.” His tone was dismissive at the mention of their true leader.

“Why on earth are you reading it?” Armitage’s fingers rubbed together in thought.

“You don’t have anything fun to read.” The former Supreme Leader held up his hand to stop Armitage’s retort. “Anything fun that isn’t about military strategy. And that’s not fun reading."

Armitage snorted, “For smaller minds it isn’t. Have you learned anything from it?”

Ben flipped through the pages with only a small crook of his fingers. Armitage’s next breath was deep and stuck in his lungs until Ben spoke again, not having noticed the other man’s displeasure at the use of the Force. Armitage didn’t think that would ever go away no matter how friendly he and Ben ever became. “Do you mind not doing that in front of me?” Armitage questioned. Ben blinked and relaxed all of his fingers. The pages stopped flipping and rest open. Armitage could not quite see what the topic was from where he sat; all he saw were drawings and unintelligible words.

His brain struggled to make sense of them until Ben relieved it of its duty. “There’s not much to learn from right now. I’m reading it just to read it. I’ll look it over later for meaning. If there is any.”

“There’s always meaning to be found. Don’t waste your time reading for pleasure, if that’s what you’re searching for. Read it for information and use the information from there.” Armitage turned his head back toward the fire. There was movement from just outside his field of vision. He adjusted his head only slightly so he could see what Ben was doing. The younger man moved to the end of the couch closest to where Armitage sat, the book still open on his thigh.

“You really don’t like to read because you’re interested, do you?” Armitage’s eyes rolled in response. “There’s too much work to read for entertainment.” He placed his hands in his lap as he opted, again, for full focus on the fire.

“You have a whole estate to yourself. There’s got to be something more than work.”

“And what do you do for fun? Waving your flaming sword around isn’t what I would call ‘fun’,” Armitage retorted.

It was Ben’s turn to roll his eyes. “Have you ever tried it?”

The closest Armitage had ever come to using anything remotely similar to a lightsaber had been when he used training staffs or training knives with his father. He’d been given some semblance of a soldier’s training but never had he seen actual, hand-to-hand combat. Armitage refused to get his hands dirty. If something had to be done, it was better off being done by someone else or from far away. A blaster would typically solve any issues. Armitage had shot many blasters before; he’d taken a small handful of lives by his own hand when the time came. He typically carried a small monomolecular blade in the sleeve of his uniform in case the time ever came for him to defend himself in _very_ close quarters. Luckily, he never had the opportunity to face that situation.

Many times—just out of curiosity and too much thought—he had dreamed of what it would be like to wield a fine lightsaber like the Jedi and Sith he had so often heard about. Now, it wasn’t to say Armitage aspired to be anything like those Force users. But there was something about wielding a weapon of such power that appealed to the man. He wondered how the weight would feel in his hand, how it would feel to drive the blade through another being. Would it bring him more satisfaction than seeing a being die from his blaster? How smooth was it to cut through another being’s body?

“No, I can’t say I have used one,” Armitage commented thoughtfully.

“I know you haven’t. That was rhetorical.” Ben closed the book. “I think you’d like it. It’s--” He trailed off.

“Powerful?” Armitage asked, leaning his head against the hand closest toward Ben. Ben met his eyes. “Yes. Powerful.”

Armitage’s thought went to Starkiller Base and the power he had felt when the weapon fired under his very order. The ground had trembled to the point where it could have been mistaken for seismic activity. But his plans and his oversight ensured that no such activity would occur; it would only have endangered the weapon. Even still, standing on the ground as the weapon fired toward the Republic created a feeling that Armitage had never experienced before. It had caused his entire body to shudder. A feeling akin to sadness caused his eyes to water but it was not tears of fear that had threatened to leak from his eyes. Pride beat against his chest, in his heart.

Was that the feeling Ben felt every time he ignited that unsteady lightsaber? Was the feeling of pride and the overwhelming tsunami of emotion felt when he held it in his hand and used it to take a life or control one? The curiosity ate away at the former general even now.

“You’d never let me hold it.” It wasn’t a question but more of a fact. Armitage wouldn’t dream of letting Ben anywhere close to a weapon such as that, even now. He didn’t even let his personal droids come near his blaster when he had still been a general. He took care of his own weapons himself. Nothing was to be touched without his own express permission. “Not that I would want to, anyway. Yours seemed as if it would explode at the wrong touch.”

Ben made a thoughtful sound. “My old lightsaber was.”

That was a curious statement. Armitage switched his positioning toward Ben, giving him full attention and interest. “Old lightsaber?” His eyes moved to the other man’s belt where the holster for the saber would usually hang by his thigh. It wasn’t attached. A familiar, paranoid panic gripped at his heart but Armitage informed himself that it wasn’t necessary to. Ben Solo seemed to be a man of his word. There was no reason to be fearful.

“I made a new one when the war was finished.” Ben set the book aside on the couch. “Can’t exactly go around without one.”

“What happened to your old one?”

Ben shifted weight so he was sitting up properly instead of slouched and semi-reclining. Discomfort crossed his features as he seemed to be reflecting on something rather tender. “I threw it away.”

Armitage’s eyes widened and disbelief crossed his face. “You _what?”_

Exasperated, Ben exclaimed, “I threw it away! Do I need to say it again?”

It wasn’t to say Armitage was completely surprised. Ben always seemed to have a flair for the dramatic. The mask and his entire attire as Kylo Ren suggested as much. Armitage’s rational mind suggested there were more practical things to do with the cross-guarded lightsaber than throw it away. He imagined the sight of Ben throwing it over a cliff or wrecking it on the ground until it was in pieces across the earth.

“It wasn’t like that.”

Armitage realized there was an aching in his head as soon as Ben had spoken. He aimed a glare at him and Ben’s shoulders shrugged. “You’ve always been too loud,” replied the Force-user.

“Not always,” Armitage responded. Ben watched him then acquiesced with a nod. “That’s true. Not always.”

Armitage was proud of that but he continued his questioning. “Then what did you do with your old saber?”

Ben looked at where his hands were placed in his lap. Armitage could only interpret his actions as trying to wash something off the skin. He watched how Ben’s long fingers glided over each other, tracing each patch of skin and nailbed. It seemed to distract him as he tolerated Armitage’s questioning.

“I threw it into the water.” The words came out nearly mumbled, almost childish. Armitage felt a pang of annoyance that was typical of these interactions. “Where did you throw it into the water? Why?”

“I didn’t want to see it anymore,” Ben said simply. “That wasn’t me. I don’t think it ever was meant for me.” His brown eyes seemingly grew deeper and darker as the firelight flickered against it. Armitage’s annoyance began to melt away as he forced himself to pay attention to the story being recited by Ben. “My uncle always talked about a lightsaber like being an extension of your body. Of your arm. It didn’t feel like it was part of me anymore. I didn’t want it to be part of me.”

Armitage found he had often thought the same thoughts by observing Ben at work. How he wielded the lightsaber, in any context, seemed as if he was using it as an extension of himself. He would manipulate it as if he had been born with that instead of a proper hand. The former general would never admit it aloud but he often marveled how Ben would wield it in the instance of battle. Even during his ridiculous tantrums, he would wave and thrust the lightsaber in a way Armitage could only describe as utterly beautiful.

“—Well, if it wasn’t going to work for you anymore, then I’m glad for it. Better to throw away anything that is unusable.” Armitage regarded Ben with a glance and a nod. Ben met his eyes in return and slowly nodded.

Both men turned their attentions to the fire. Ben’s book was all but forgotten as they watched the flames flicker about in their contained space. At some point, Armitage rose to ready himself for bed. Ben merely looked up at him to acknowledge his leaving. Armitage noticed the slight raise of his lips as well. It was strange; instead of being unnerved, Armitage found he welcomed the smile. Though he himself did not return it, he didn’t dismiss it. His hand touched the back of the couch for a lingering moment before he exited the library.

He chose not to overanalyze the gesture as he retreated to bathe. Armitage’s thoughts were relatively empty as he sat in the warm water and washed off the day. He did find himself relating the movements of his own fingers to how Ben’s had moved over his own skin. Despite the coarseness and roughness of the man’s personality, he’d regarded his own skin as if it was the smoothest substance in the galaxy. Armitage recalled feeling nearly soothed by the sight. Not once in the last five years of knowing Ben had he ever thought of him as soft. Certainly not by personality nor by gesture. He’d never shown himself to be a soft man. Weak, yes, but never soft or tender.

The man Armitage had once been couldn’t comprehend this. The man he was now—rather, _becoming_ —saw something in this tenderness; something that did not cause him to fear for his own safety.

* * *

He had never sought company before nor had he wanted to. When on his own ship, if he needed an escort, he would wait for it to be given rather than seek it out. It was unbecoming of a man of his station. It was weak. It showed a lack of strength both in mind and spirit. A general did not seek out company of any means; everything was given to him.

This was a new sensation he was not quite comfortable with. He felt ill as he exited his room the next morning and was met with the sight of a fully dressed Ben. Ben seemed only a bit surprised to meet Armitage in the middle of the hall. “Good morning,” he greeted. Armitage could tell Ben had only just woken up. His voice was still rough and clouded with sleep.

“Good morning,” Armitage responded, clearing his throat after he spoke. His, too, was rough. He saw that Ben was dressed for the day; in his darker trousers, shirt, coat, and a pair of dark gloves. Had he originally arrived with them? Armitage couldn’t say he had paid any close attention to Ben’s manner of dress before now. His eyes briefly caught sight of the belt and holster strapped to the other man’s leg. A cylindrical item hung from it. Certainly it was Ben’s lightsaber. Armitage initially didn’t know how to feel about that realization.

“Where are you off to? Breakfast?”

Armitage shook his head. “I thought I would inspect the property.” They had enough wood cut for fires, thanks to Ben. It wouldn’t make much sense for Armitage to oversee that task. “I thought, perhaps, you would like to accompany me.”

Ben looked genuinely surprised, but not obliviously. Armitage had gotten used to Ben’s tells; the way his brow would raise or the switching of weight from right foot to left foot. Those were tells to the man’s mood and to what course of action he would take next. For instance, Ben’s eyes had widened only just and one hand went to wring his wrist. Then his brows furrowed.

“Accomp-Accompany you?”

Then there was the slight stammer. Armitage had only heard that a marginal amount of times and only in the presence of Snoke when the pressure was truly on their shoulders. He was surprised to hear it now.

“Yes. Accompany me. Wasn’t it you who complained you didn’t know which rooms to enter and which rooms to leave alone?”

“The outdoors are not exactly rooms,” Ben pointed out. Armitage gave him an impatient look. Ben ceased wringing his wrist and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. Even though I probably know it just as well as you.”

That proved to be true. They started on the trek toward the South Woods as was their respective routines. They didn’t engage in small talk until they stopped by the serpentine lake. It was a very light rainfall so far. The only way either man would realize it was, in fact, raining was the ripples of disturbance on the lake. Armitage looked over the grass and weeds that were starting to grow. “Perhaps I can reprogram a droid to fix that.” He gestured with two fingers to the sight.

“I can do it after this. No problem, probably,” Ben said.

Armitage scoffed at the word choice. “‘No problem, probably?’ That hardly makes any sense.”

Ben’s head shook and he kept staring straight ahead at the lake. “You don’t get to pick at what I say when you can hardly keep a conversation going.”

“Neither can you,” Armitage shot back. Ben scoffed, earning Armitage’s ire. “What? It’s accurate. Can’t keep one going without picking a fight.” Armitage felt his shoe press down on something hard and lifted his foot. It was a rough stone. He preemptively flicked imaginary filth off his fingers and bent down to pick it up, holding it between the tips of his fingers. He drew back his arm and threw it as far as he could. Armitage grimaced at the sharp pain through his shoulder. For as many weeks as it had been, he still could not get the pulled muscle to leave him completely.

If Ben noticed, he didn’t say anything in regards to the pain on Armitage’s face. “We’ve never had a civil conversation before now,” he noted, looking at the ripples coming from the man-made lake.

“For good reason.” Armitage was quick to point it out. Ben shrugged. “I suppose.”

They watched the ripples until they faded then made their way into the lining of trees. Armitage had slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and kept his eyes aimed ahead while Ben seemed to be laxer with his focus. They walked side-by-side yet Ben was glancing around as if seeing the forest for the first time. Armitage briefly glimpsed at him from time-to-time, noting how peaceful he seemed.

“Do you come out here a lot?” He asked.

Ben nodded, still not looking at Armitage. “Even when you insist on gathering wood, I like to come here. My uncle used to say that being one with nature gets you closer with the Force. The Force connects everything. It’s in every living thing.”

“Not _every_ living thing. That would mean hundreds of Jedi, wouldn’t it?”

Admittedly, Armitage realized his comment sounded uneducated. If he had been a younger man, a more naïve man, he would have flushed red and backtracked immediately. Now he was more skillful at hiding his embarrassment when Ben allotted him a look. “Not animals, obviously,” Armitage said in a more hurried tone than he would have liked to use. “Nor trees.”

“Don’t think those will be coming to life and chasing after you with a lightsaber,” Ben said. He sounded as if he would laugh. There was no sign of dismissal or arrogance that Armitage had been prepared for. “Or choking you.”

“I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.” Armitage confronted himself with memories of his breath suddenly escaping him the moment he struck Kylo Ren’s nerve or delivered unfortunate news to Leader Snoke. Even now, he could feel the phantom pressure on his larynx. It was more of his brain’s doing and he knew that. Even still, his automatic response was to recoil.

Ben seemed to reflect on Armitage’s words both spoken and unspoken. The two men stopped by a larger tree and stood underneath the covering of leaves.

“It’s complicated. And simple. And everything in between.” Ben seemed to struggle to define the concept. “Everything has a connection through the Force. I can feel—a lot of things if I really focus. The animals, the trees, water. People.”

Armitage could hardly comprehend the concept. “Feel them?”

“Their energy. Their very being.” Ben’s voice grew lower, deeper in his vocal register as he reflected. “People, even. Everyone has a bit of it. It’s what connects everything; even the light and the dark.”

“You can feel that inside people? What if they don’t have the Force?” Armitage challenged, though genuinely curious despite it all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ben retorted. He was more concentrated on Armitage now. His hands hung by his sides rather than tucked in pockets or curled into themselves. “You’re living. I can feel you.”

The words struck Armitage as more intimate than was likely meant. His lips parted as if he were to say something but he could not find the words appropriate enough. His green eyes silently challenged Ben to say more. No, not _challenged,_ exactly. He didn’t quite know what he wanted from the other man except for him to speak more; to make him understand just what he meant by his words. They locked eyes for quite some time before Armitage was distracted by the sound of tree movement. An animal, surely. It had to be. He’d hardly seen one in all the time he’d been at the estate but it couldn’t be anything else.

“What does it feel like?” Armitage suddenly asked. “To experience that?” He looked at Ben again. “Powerful?”

“Not all the time.” Ben’s voice was inward now. He seemed to be occupied by his own thoughts. “Not all the time.”

Armitage thought better than to press. Ben could shut down just as easily as he had opened up. He swallowed his urge to know more and said, “This way.” He stepped away from the tree and looked up as he felt the rain falling steadily on their heads.

Ben, too, looked upwards. “When will the sun come out?” He asked, squinting as rain hit near his eyes. Armitage began to walk and Ben caught up in two strides. “Not sure,” replied the former general, “I never paid attention to the cycles. It’s a gamble.”

“You grew up here and you don’t know?”

Armitage made a sound of clear irritation. “Ask anyone else here and they could hardly tell you. It’s a rarity. Last time it came out was perhaps a month before you arrived. It could come out tomorrow, next week, or next year. There’s no knowing.”

He heard Ben mumbling something under his breath. His head sharply turned to the side. “If you’re going to say something, say it louder so I can hear.”

“No wonder you’re so miserable.”

That was blunt but not unexpected. But before Armitage could bark out a retort, he saw Ben crack a grin and then a laugh. Despite himself and despite his instinct to protect himself, Armitage found himself wanting to laugh as well. He didn’t know why and he didn’t think it was appropriate. But damn what was appropriate. The laughter quelled in his stomach and rose through his chest and out his mouth. “Shut up.”

Armitage shook his head as they both finished laughing and reached the edge of the natural lake. His chest felt less heavy as he took in the sight. “Yes, good,” he sighed to himself as he looked out over the expanding body of water. He spotted the fallen tree trunk and instinctively made his way toward it to sit. He rolled back his shoulders repeatedly, wincing as he tried to work out the soreness to no avail. Ben’s dark presence came right beside him as they looked over the water.

Any misgivings about asking Ben to be there were all but forgotten as they both looked over the water. Armitage’s hands braced on the wood. He could feel it succumbing to the elements of nature; it’s rotting, softening wood that was most certainly the home to various insects or animals seeking shelter. He thought about when he would come through the woods as a boy. It seemed the only things that changed were the rotting of the tree trunk and Armitage, himself.

“—When I was young,” he said, “my father would sometimes return here and bring me with him. He would have to entertain someone to continue their support of his training program. I don’t recall now. But I wouldn’t be allowed around. Either I would be in my room or I would have to be outside. My father thought the air and the cold would do me good. The droid taking care of me would supervise me to a point. I knew it was difficult for it to follow me into the woods. I was a little boy. I would run through to here.”

He seemed to smile as the memory reappeared to him, almost as if he were watching a hologram of the events. He could see himself as a four-year-old boy, rail-thin and swimming in the clothes he was given, running through the woods and the rain as the calls of the nanny droid grew more and more faint in the distance. His little legs had carried him to this very spot as if he’d been drawn to it.

“I don’t know what brought me here. I always liked how the water expanded. I used to wonder if it dropped off the side of the planet.” Armitage couldn’t help but laugh a little. “If it would carry me to the very edge and then drop me off. I wondered what the hell was off the planet. My father would go off-planet on occasion and I thought it meant he floated about. I couldn’t have known any of it, even though he taught me better.” The memory began to sour. Armitage began to lose sight of the greater picture. The little, joyful boy who had run to the lakeside began to fade into the boy he had become all too familiar with. The brief joy he’d felt dropped into the pits of his stomach. Armitage felt cold again. The chill of the air and the rain seeped into his bones and his muscles. He rubbed his sore shoulder and sighed as he pressed his fingers against it, trying to satiate the pain.

Ben, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke. “I’ve got it.”

Armitage felt his presence hovering closer and moved his hand to stop him to no avail. Ben pressed his flat palm against Armitage’s shoulder and repeated, “I’ve got it.”

The former general looked at Ben in a moment of confusion. There was something in the other man’s face that quelled his own emotion so he elected not to say a word. Ben concentrated. His eyes lowered and he began to breathe in and out in a rather soothing fashion. Even by observing him, Armitage found himself wanting to follow the breathing pattern. In fact, he did. He wasn’t sure if he was doing so voluntarily or if he was being persuaded to do so. None of it had any malicious meaning as Armitage soon realized.

The pain that had knotted itself in his back and shoulder began to fade away. It was a feeling he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t anything he was used to. This wasn’t being healed by a medical droid or the usage of bacta. It was something ethereal that he had never known in this context. The only context he was used to was one that caused him harm and fear. He would feel like a battered dog each time this Force was used against him. Now, however, it was not like that. The energy was cooler and smooth; like water. It was almost like the very water they had been staring out over. There was no fear this time of sea creatures taking him and dragging him under to his death. There was no fear of death at all; only healing.

Armitage realized he was staring at Ben almost as soon as his hand went away from his back. As soon as Ben’s eyes met his, he found his chest throbbing. It was something akin to fear. No, it wasn’t fear entirely. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“What did you do?” His voice was quiet and unsure. It didn’t sound remotely like the voice of the man Armitage had crafted himself into. It was vulnerable. He didn’t know if he liked that.

Ben’s voice was stronger than his but still as open and barren. “I took your pain away.”

No. Not all of it. He’d left him with a new sort of pain that Armitage couldn’t define. He didn’t even know what it was. It made him feel sick. His hand went to his stomach as he realized what he was feeling. Ben sat up straighter and leaned back only just so. His eyes were searching over Armitage as he waited to see what his reaction would be. Both of them waited for a tense ten minutes to see how the former general would react.

Bit by bit, Armitage rose to his feet. His hand dropped from his lower abdomen as the sickness began to abate. He looked down at Ben by his side. “Why did you do that?”

Ben’s expression was currently unreadable. “So I don’t have to hear you thinking about it all the time,” he said after a short period of silence and contemplation.

That wasn’t the truth and both of them knew it. It was futile to argue the point or to make a joke of it now. What was best was the accept it. Armitage did not acknowledge the words but he did give a slow nod of thanks. It was better than nothing. It was better than pushing Ben away. In fact, Armitage did not want to push Ben away. If anything, it was better to have him close than to not have him at all.

* * *

Armitage didn’t know why he scanned his father’s study each time he entered it. He’d told X-3PZ2 to make sure Ben did not enter this room and the droid could often be seen or heard patrolling the area at odd hours. Nothing was different about the room whenever Armitage entered. Not a paper nor chair was out of place. No books were removed. Everything was neatly tucked and placed back where it belonged. The only differenc would be seen inside the desk. Papers that Armtage had rifled through were placed on the very top so he could open the drawer and continue where he left off.

Today he took the papers he had been wanting to read as well as a small journal he had found weeks ago. But instead of sitting down at the desk for a full day of reading and studying, he turned off the light to the room and brought the papers and book downstairs to the library. As he descended the stairs, he passed by Ben who appeared to be descending the stairs as well. Armitage glided to a stop on the second floor landing to acknowledge the other.

“Where are you going?” Ben asked, his eyes flickering to the journal and papers Armitage was holding.

Rather than be suspicious of the question, Armitage’s tone was rather calm and void of any aggression. “To the library,” he responded simply. “I have some things I want to read.” He avoided anything specific, though unsure if he was doing that consciously or unconsciously. Regardless, Ben’s interest was piqued. “Where were you going?” Armitage asked. Both men began to walk down the stairs, their feet moving in sync with one another.

Ben’s hand touched the bannister as they walked, his fingers trailed over the smooth wood. “I was going there, too, to meditate.” He continued when Armitage gave him a look. “It’s quiet and I won’t get in your way. I just needed a change of scenery.”

Armitage still remained skeptical; not of Ben but of the meditation idea in general. He’d never been one for that practice. If a person needed meditation to remain focused and calm, they obviously never learned the proper way to stay focused on a task. They let their emotions cloud them. He didn’t bring that thought into the conversation.

“How’s your shoulder?” Ben asked. Both men reached the bottom of the stairs and made their way to the library. Armitage nodded as he momentarily checked in with his body. “It feels fine. Thank you.” The gratitude wasn’t empty. It was, perhaps for the first time in years, genuine. Ben acknowledged it with a slow smile. There was a beat before the two men separated to go to their respective spots in the library. Armitage went to the couch in order to give himself a comfortable place to sit. Ben examined each piece of furniture before he opted to sit on the floor. Armitage had not even opened his father’s journal when he noticed Ben sitting. He couldn’t resist the sound that came from his nose and throat; almost reminiscent of a snort.

Ben’s hair quickly whipped as he turned his head to look at Armitage, who merely shrugged and opened the journal. His eyes scoured over his father’s words, up the peaks and valleys his handwriting created. Though Brendol had neat handwriting, there was a story in and of his penmanship. Armitage was a firm believer that what a person left behind told the story of who they were. It was just as easy to get to know someone through what they left behind as it was speaking to them. His father was no exception.

He didn’t know how much time passed before he heard a sound come from where Ben sat on the other side of the room. His green eyes lifted toward the other man. Ben was sitting upright, his back almost impossibly straight. He was seated in front of the bay window. It was grey outside but muted sunlight streamed into the room. Ben was clad in all black but the greyness around his head seemed to create a halo of light. His skin almost glowed. It did not make him look sickly as it did Armitage but, rather, made Armitage think of the smooth structure of statues. Again, his thoughts went to art and he compared the smoothness of Ben’s features to the pieces he had seen as a young man in his books as well as life. It didn’t matter that his jaw was obscured by facial hair; Ben’s youth and finely sculpted features shone through. It was almost painful to look at. Pain was the only word Armitage could think of. It was the only feeling he could discern. His lower stomach cramped. Was it truly a cramp? He couldn’t understand it.

Ben’s eyes were closed but his features were twitching. His broad chest rose and fell evenly, however, which dulled Armitage’s concern. He’d never witnessed Ben meditating before. He always thought it was a practice meant to quell the anxieties within oneself. Was it different for Force users? Questions and curiosities rose to the forefront of his brain in a manner Armitage had never experienced. Ben’s hands rested on each knee. His fingers, too, began to twitch; slightly tightening on his kneecaps and his thighs. Ben made the sound again and it was almost as if he were a machine puffing out hot air. As soon as he breathed out, he sucked the breath back in.

Armitage was pretty sure this was no ordinary meditation. He closed his father’s journal but kept a finger in between the pages to keep his place. “Ben?”

There was a repetition of the breaths. Armitage said again, “Ben.” Another repetition followed. His voice was firmer this time.

“ ** _Ben_**.”

Ben’s eyes opened and he puffed out the air again. His eyes were vacant. Even from where he sat across the room, Armitage could see that. It wasn’t a worrying vacancy as Ben seemed to come back to the present in the following seconds. His dark eyes met Armitage’s. The intensity of the look took the former general aback for a moment before he was able to collect himself. Ben’s voice was uneven as he asked, “What?”

“What was that?” Armitage’s thumb pressed against the cover of the journal and he leaned forward.

Ben’s shoulders released their tension and slouched only a fraction. He seemed not to know what Armitage was talking about. Then his fingers tightened on his kneecaps. “Nothing. Sometimes you see things,” he explained. “Connecting with the Force is always a gamble.”

Armitage nodded as if he understood what Ben was saying. There was something that nagged him at the back of his mind. It tugged at his thoughts as if it were a child tugging at its carer’s trousers. Ben shifted to his knees then rose to his feet, brushing off his trouser legs as he lifted his chin toward Armitage. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing.” A pause. “My father’s papers.”

“Why are you reading those?” Ben stepped toward Armitage’s side. His hands were deep in the pockets of his trousers. His eyes seemed to peer at the journal but did not dare to look any further over the cover; not with Armitage holding it so close against his leg.

Armitage’s thumb dug into the cover. “To learn something.” He observed Ben’s annoyance. “About?” He asked impatiently. “How to blow up a planet using firewood? Or overtaking a small planet with domestic droids?”

“When you know, inform me at once.” Armitage meant it as a joke but he realized how serious the words came out.

Regardless, it caused Ben to crack a smile. The Force user scratched at his face then dangled the hand by his side. “Couldn’t find anything of my dad’s,” he said aloud. “He wasn’t the kind of guy who left behind a diary. Preferred to be on the go. My mom was the one who left things behind.”

“What sort of things?”

Armitage shifted to create room for Ben on the off-chance he wanted to sit. He memorized the page he had left off on and closed the journal. Ben gave a shrug of the shoulders. “Mostly about her work. Strategies. Things like that. The Republic was her life. The Rebellion was her life.”

“Not her family?” Armitage questioned. Ben’s head sharply lifted to meet his. The look of pain was evident. Armitage did not see it prudent to verbalize his apology. Instead he replied, “My father wasn’t any different.”

“I know. I heard a lot about him.” Ben seemed to take the unspoken offer and sat on the couch, hunched over himself with his elbows leaning on his thighs. He angled his head toward Armitage. “I know a lot about him.”

Armitage set the journal down by his side. “What do you think you’ll learn?” Ben continued to question.

“Nothing I haven’t already learned,” Armitage replied quietly. “My father taught me everything. He did so begrudgingly but he did it. I improved everything I saw him do. I took his plans and his programs and I did more than he ever could with them. I succeeded.”

He didn’t wait for Ben to question him. Instead, he shot Ben a look warning him not to contradict him. “I succeeded where he would have failed.”

Ben didn’t say anything for or against Armitage’s statement. His eyes broke contact then reestablished it. “What about _your_ mother?”

The question felt like a blaster to his chest. For a moment, Armitage swore he was reliving the moment he was shot. The same nauseating feeling he had experienced off and on for months returned. He could taste metal in his mouth and momentarily wondered if it was blood. His face both felt warm and ice cold simultaneously. Ben’s eyes remained steady as he waited for his answer.

“What about her?”

“Is there anything left of her?”

The question was meant innocently. That’s what Armitage’s rational mind told him. But his emotion and irrationality screamed at him and clouded his hearing. Again he felt the nausea passing through his stomach and up his esophagus. It took three cycles of deep breaths to even quell the rising illness.

Armitage wondered if he looked as unhinged as he felt on the inside. He hoped not. “Why are you asking me?”

“It’s a question, Armitage,” Ben replied, though with more caution than before.

“It’s a question I will not answer.” Armitage briefly lost feeling in his hands. He stared down at them as if doubting they even existed. Where had _that_ thought come from? Of course his hands existed. Of course _he_ existed. He looked at Ben again and felt his lips silently muttering the words he wished he was saying. “You don’t have the right to ask that of me.”

Ben’s brows furrowed but he backed off both physically and verbally. “Okay. Okay,” he said. He rose to his feet and shifted weight before mumbling, “I’m going to check on the status of the provisions.”

“Do,” Armitage said, his throat drying up as Ben turned to go.

As he reached the doorway, Ben turned back and said, “I’m sorry. Off-limits conversation, I guess. Another door I can’t open.”

Armitage looked over to him and nodded his head. “Off-limits,” he echoed.

Ben nodded. His fingers grazed the doorknob, tapping on it one at a time. “I’ll ask X-3ZP2 to bring up tea.”

“Do,” Armitage said after him. The nausea quelled as Ben nodded his head in confirmation. Armitage’s hand touched the cover of the journal. He heard Ben tap the doorknob again three times then heard him start to step toward the Great Hall.

“Ben.”

A pause but no verbal response. Armitage turned his head over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He didn’t bother to look for a sign of Ben’s gratitude. It came nearly half an hour later after he heard the movements of Ben and the droids. It came after X-3ZP2 entered with Armitage’s tea as well as something else. On the tray containing his tea was a packet of cigarettes and matches.

Armitage’s fingers grazed over the packet as if questioning its existence. He hadn’t had a cigarette in half a year. He didn’t know which was better; the bitter warmth of the tea or the cigarette between his lips. As the smoke filled his lungs, Armitage closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch, content to lose himself in this precious gift bestowed upon him by the most unlikely of allies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter 9

Armitage didn’t quite remember how many months he had been in exile. He’d lost track after it became quite clear that Ben was not leaving. In truth, he was growing accustomed to the sight of Ben each morning. They had developed a regular routine where they rose at a similar time each morning and checked the stockpile of wood. If it was depleted, then one or both of them would venture outside to gather more. Often, it seemed to be the two of them together out in the thick of the rain and thunder. It was easier that way. As it developed into a regular occurrence, Armitage found he quite enjoyed how Ben’s presence turned into desired company.

The very fact that he was _enjoying_ Ren’s company was a development in and of itself. As was the amount of time he spent in the library as opposed to his study. The only time he spent in his study was in the late hours of the night when Ben had all but returned to his own room, leaving Armitage in the library with only the remains of the fire to keep him company. The next day would be a reflection of the day before that and the day before that until Armitage could hardly remember a day before Ben’s arrival.

He found that he quite enjoyed the man Ben Solo was. He was proving to be more respectful than Kylo Ren had ever been. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t have his moments. Armitage found little aspects of Ben’s personality or his manner of being that irritated him. More often than not he would forget to clean up after himself as he made meals or tea. He would track mud and other bits of earth in from the outside, leading to Armitage raising his voice and for a droid to spend nearly two hours cleaning up after Ben. Ben, as was expected, dismissed Armitage’s complaints. In fact, the former general swore Ben was smiling after each confrontation. It only served to annoy him but not to the degree it did in their former lives.

At least he did not try to bend the rules Armitage had put in place. Despite this solid peace, there was still a worry that Ben would venture into rooms he should not venture into. Armitage made it a point to remind X-3ZP2 to watch the third floor rooms as well as the locked room in the basement. Yes, it was locked; however, Ben was a Force user. It would not be an issue for him to enter if he so pleased.

He was not eager to share the reason with Ben. If the topic was ever broached, Armitage would shut it down swiftly and move onto something else. He was skilled at evading the topic that set his stomach turning and his thoughts into a downward spiral. At least Ben seemed to respect it. Armitage wouldn’t have known if he didn’t. Regardless, he appreciated the cooperation. He appreciated the familiarity developing between them. He wasn’t sure if he would consider it a friendship but it was appreciated.

The idea that he and Ben could ever be friends began broaching his thoughts one dreary day during which rain had not fallen from the sky. Ben had entered the library dressed in his regular attire. He was wearing his holster and clutching something in his right hand. Armitage did not see what it was until it landed on his chest and face.

The general sputtered in surprise and waved it off his body. Only when it fell on the floor did he see it was his jacket.

“What the hell were you doing in my room?” Armitage asked in shock.

Ben ignored him. “Put it on. Grab your shoes.”

He wracked his brain for a reason as to why Ben would command him like that. Armitage rose to his feet and grabbed the jacket. It was no longer big on him. Ever since his and Ben’s truce, he’d found his appetite had returned. He was healthier than he had been in a few months. “Why?”

“We’re going into town.”

Armitage frowned at Ben, who seemed all too eager. He was almost bouncing on his feet. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seemed that eager. Armitage, meanwhile, did not feel the same energy. Quite the opposite, actually.

“You’re forgetting I cannot leave the estate.”

“Who the hell said that?” Ben asked, voice full of ridicule. “What do you think is gonna happen?” He gestured toward the Great Hall with his head. “Come on. Before it rains.” He started for the hall and backtracked when Armitage did not immediately follow. “What, do you need me to order you?” Ben asked, gesturing again with his head.

In truth, Armitage felt anxiety at the prospect of leaving the property. He did not consider himself a weak-willed man. He considered himself rather independent. Rationally, he knew he had nothing to fear. Despite it all, DH-1460’s words from so long ago rung through his head like a siren:

_If I see you off-planet, I will not hesitate to kill you myself._

Yes, that had been in case he was off-planet. But the paranoia was back in full force as Armitage wondered if violence would come to him regardless. He even dared to wonder if this was a trap devised by Ben. It was all an elaborate trap for the Republic to execute him. That’s why Ben had stayed this long. That’s why he had gained Armitage’s trust.

Ben did not have to read his thoughts to understand what Armitage was thinking. The former general knew that his emotion was shown clearly on his face. He could feel it overtaking him. It was a fear he hadn’t felt in a long time. Armitage saw Ben step toward him and heard him say, “Nothing’s going to happen to you when we leave.”

“We have no way of getting there,” Armitage protested rather quickly. He felt safer in the library, safer on the confines of the estate. Even the idea of passing the Servant’s House filled him with dread.

“Walking. It’ll take some time, but we’ll get there.”

Armitage rubbed the back of his head, feeling how long his hair had grown. It was nearly down to the base of his neck. It would rival Ben’s, soon enough. His fingers twisted into the strands of hair and he found he hated the feeling of the length. It wasn’t _him_. He shook his head in response. “You can go. Are we really missing that many things?”

Ben looked rather proud of himself when he spoke next. “I thought we could go in and get our supplies ourselves. It’s time we started doing that.”

Armitage didn’t know why he fixated so much on the word ‘ _we_ ’. The word echoed through his mind after Ben spoke. “What on earth do you think we’re going to use to bring everything back?” He countered.

Ben looked beyond bothered. “If you keep asking questions, I’m going to make you carry everything yourself. Including the heavy stuff. Come on.” He moved his fingers and the jacket lurched as if it suddenly came to life. Armitage’s eyes widened and he flinched rather violently. He glowered at an amused Ben. “I despise you.”

“Not so much me. The Force, for sure.” Ben’s smirk rivaled Armitage’s glare. He waved his fingers again but the jacket did not come to life. Armitage continued glaring as he pulled the jacket on, noting to himself how it was still large on him. It had been his father’s, yes, but even regaining a healthy amount of weight did not make it fit any better on Armitage’s frame. He supposed he would have to resign himself to being drowned in the jacket whenever he wore it.

“Damn the Force.” Armitage rolled back his shoulders and walked into the Great Hall with forced purpose.

He heard Ben’s boots against the stone and carpet as they neared the door. X-3ZP2 was also entering the Hall and was momentarily startled; as startled as a droid could be, Armitage supposed. He still didn’t think too highly of the machines despite their usefulness. X-3 was loyal because he was programmed that way. There was nothing else to it.

“X-3,” Armitage said, “Ben and I are going into town. We won’t be back for a few hours.” Ben raised his brow and the two men watched the droid process the information. “ _Going into town_ , Master Armitage?”

“Yes. Into town.” To be fair, the words sounded foreign and almost worrisome to Armitage. He cleared his throat and gave Ben a look. Ben’s dark brows furrowed as he frowned. “—Figured we could get some things,” he said slowly. He was attempting to decipher Armitage’s pointed look.

X-3 whirred. “Things?”

“Yeah, things. Parts and—things.” Ben’s eyes squinched in search of a better term. Armitage’s eyes rolled and he walked through the door into the cool air. His hands dove into his jacket pockets as he looked for Ben before they walked up the drive to the edge of the property.

Honestly, and Armitage would not admit it aloud, he felt as if he was dying when they passed the Servant’s House. It was a dramatic thought but it was the only accurate description of the fear that gripped him. It was pure delusion and paranoia that he was experiencing. Armitage had hoped it was only an internal reaction and that Ben would not see a thing. Of course Ben knew how he was feeling. Armitage realized this when Ben stopped walking and stared at him. It was as if he was waiting for orders. That was certainly a change in their dynamic, Armitage couldn’t help but think. When he had been Kylo Ren, he had disregarded orders.

Truly, Armitage needed to let go of Kylo Ren. The very fact Ben waited for him to make a move was proof that Kylo Ren did not exist any longer. It was for the best; the absolute best. The former general was proud of himself as he dismissed memories of Kylo Ren and stepped over the imagined property line.

He paused again as if waiting for a strike from the heavens above or for a blaster bolt to cut through his marrow. Nothing.

He stared at the winding path before them. It had been over half-a-year since he’d walked up rather than down. Armitage had almost forgotten how trees bordered the man-made road that lead toward the Academy and toward town. It was indented with marks of carts that had been drug the same path for almost a year. Armitage marveled how the earth had adjusted to the monthly visitation. He kept the thought to himself as he fell in step beside Ben. He chose to look ahead and around at the greenery. Had it always been so vibrant or had his eyes only grown accustomed to the foliage on the estate grounds? His world had been confined to fifty-six acres and now it was open to endless possibilities. It didn’t make him happy or anxious. Armitage did not know how he felt. It was disconcerting to not have a point of view straight away.

Ben, on the other hand, seemed a little more at ease with walking off the property. Ben had always donned an attitude where he knew what he was doing, even if the reality was quite the opposite. Armitage was familiar with it and often adopted the same attitude. The difference was how much pressure it took for their respective attitudes to drop.

Nearly ten minutes into the walk, Armitage punctured the silence. “Why did you want to go into town? It’s easier for the supplies to be brought to us, is it not?”

“It is,” Ben agreed, “but I’m getting a little stir crazy.” His fingers were tapping the holster. Armitage couldn’t understand the rhythm. It was too chaotic for him to decipher. “I’ve walked the grounds too much.” He paused. “I need to speak to actual human beings.”

Armitage’s brows furrowed. “I’m a human being, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Ben said a bit sheepishly, “but other human beings.” He shoved his left hand in his pocket and kept tapping the holster with his right. “Not droids, either. Or through the Force.” He trailed off at the final thought.

Armitage recalled the nights where, when his paranoia was at its peak, he would hear Ben speaking muffled words through his door. It was as if he was speaking to other people. He was, in fact, communicating with the Republic; Ben had told him as much months earlier. Still, it had filled him with wild thoughts and beliefs that, in the dead of night, the scavenger and her rouge friends would storm the estate and take him from his prison into one that would be far worse. Thoughts of betrayal had never strayed until now.

Until _now_.

Ben seemed almost disappointed that Armitage did not press further; the operative word being _seemed_. Perhaps that was a bit of projecting on the part of Armitage. Instead, the former general kicked at a stray rock and watched it skid a few feet in front of them. He ended up dredging up a bit of muddied earth as well and dirtying his shoes. His nose scrunched in disdain at the muck. By his side, Ben exhaled through his nose and hummed. He, too, dragged his foot and kicked up bits of the muddied earth. When their eyes next met, the darker haired man quirked his lips in a crooked sort of smile that flattered Armitage rather than irked him. He was shocked to realize this.

“You’d better clean your boots before you even think of walking inside, Solo,” Armitage warned. There was no malice to the warning. Ben gestured in response which resulted in his wrist bumping against Armitage’s arm. Had they truly been walking so close together? It didn’t seem to bother either of them.

“You’re one to talk.”

“ _You_ were the one to track mud across the floors of _my_ ship.” Armitage avoided stepping on a rather jagged rock. He side-stepped it, effectively moving closer to Ben for only a moment before stepping back to his original position.

Ben seemed to flippantly wave off Armitage’s words. “If only you had invested so much time into improving defenses in Starkiller Base—“

“What? The First Order wouldn’t have fallen?”

Instead of becoming defensive, Ben seemed to rapidly consider the potential future. “Maybe. But maybe things still wouldn’t have changed.”

“You did say ‘maybe’,” Armitage pointed out.

They were about fifteen minutes walk from the markets in town. Fifteen minutes to their destination.

Ben acquiesced with a nod. His hands slid back in his trouser pockets. Armitage noticed how the lightsaber swung against his thigh with each stride the Force-user seemed to take. His eyes lifted to observe the manner in which Ben’s hair brushed over his shoulders. The slight breeze also gave life to the otherwise lifeless waves.

“How do you expect to pay for what we need?” Armitage questioned. “Do you have any credits?”

“Of course I have credits,” Ben responded. “What would you have done if I didn’t?”

There wasn’t much the former general could say in way of protest. He suspected Ben knew that judging by the raised brow and combined smirk and smile on his crooked lips. It would be quite some time before Armitage was entirely comfortable with that expression on Ben’s face.

The air escaped his lungs and Ben nodded along, muttering “There you go” simultaneously.

“I very well don’t approve of stealing, you know.”

“Because you’re the righteous one. Okay.”

Armitage sputtered. “I’ll have you know that I’m above common thievery.”

Ben snorted, “Right, right. But not above a dictatorship.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds immoral,” retorted Armitage. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and squinted ahead. The outer border of the town would be coming within sight soon.

Ben’s shoulders rose to just under his earlobes. “We’re not going to have this conversation.”

“Oh no?” Asked Armitage. “I can’t fathom why we won’t.”

“Huh, don’t get me going. I’m not going to argue with you.”

Ben’s black boots kicked up more dirt and rocks from the muddied earth they tread upon. It got over the toes of the boot. Armitage didn’t let himself look at it entirely. It would bother him too much.

* * *

He had never ventured into town as a child. Rarely had Armitage ever left the boundaries of the Academy or of the estate. The only memory he had of the town center was when he and his father were being transported off-planet. Even then, he hadn’t stepped outside of the transport to the larger ship which would take them to the Star Destroyer.

He wondered if he should have worn some sort of head or face covering. Armitage was certain that he would be recognized. Yet as he and Ben passed by a window, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection.

He was not quite as rail thin as he had feared, nor was his as healthy as Ben seemed to be. His cheekbones had always been somewhat defined, as had his jaw. Both of those were covered by a mustache and beard that did not make him any less handsome. Armitage touched the facial hair and then touched his hair. It had grown to just underneath his ears. It was, by his own snap estimate, about four inches shorter than Ben’s. He didn’t like it, he realized. He liked when his hair had been short and styled back in a neat manner. He liked how esteemed it was. No, he didn’t like this longer, wild style at all.

Ben had stopped nearly three feet ahead and turned to see what had occupied Armitage’s thoughts. He walked toward him to see what he was looking at and gestured with a pointed finger to the pottery inside. “Thinking of getting new dishes?”

Armitage’s eyes narrowed as the men made eye contact and he brushed him with his shoulder as he began to walk. “I need to cut my hair,” the former general responded gruffly. “And shave.” He made it a mental note to find a razor. Something sharp, something _new_. Some cream as well and, perhaps, some oil to soften his skin. Working out in the cold and the rain had made his skin rough and dry. He hadn’t thought much about his skin care in the past months.

He looked at Ben, who was walking by his side once more, and wondered how he managed to care for his appearance. It was true that he had facial hair—a rather handsome and trim beard, if Armitage had to speak honestly and freely—but it did not make him look rugged and wild. Yes, he looked handsome even with longer hair. It suited him. This life seemed to suit him; one free of rules and constraints. One where he could be free. Armitage wondered how Ben could be so relaxed with the lack of structure. It was a completely foreign concept.

“Are there groomers here?”

Armitage balked at the word choice and the manner in which Ben spoke. His mind immediately went to an untamed place. He thought about the Wookie that he had encountered nearly a year prior. _Nearly a year prior_. He immediately dismissed the thought from his mind.

“I don’t know. I see no issue with—with fixing it myself.”

“ _Fixing_?” Ben echoed. “Yes,” Armitage hissed, “ _fixing_.” He touched his own long hair. “Fixing _this_.”

“I didn’t realize there was anything wrong with it.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t. You wear yours like it daily. I, on the other hand, don’t like it.”

Armitage was mindful of the people they passed. Arkanis was a planet populated by mainly humans but it was also a hub for trading and fishing. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see non-humans about. Surprisingly, they didn’t give him a second look. He wondered why. The streets were not too tiny yet not too large. It wasn’t a dense city; it was a well-populated town center. There was room for carts, for speeder-like machines, as well as for people carrying their wares by hand or by cart.

Ben replied, “You don’t like my hair?”

It was a casual question yet a question that also triggered Armitage’s brain to think of a defensive response. He was hardwired to protect himself from unfavorable outcomes.

“Not for myself, no,” he said as measuredly as he could. “I think it’s too uncivilized.”

“I’m uncivilized?”

Armitage found his defensive nature vanish at the look on Ben’s face. He scowled at the pleasure the other man seemed to be taking in this. His forearm and the back of his hand smacked against Ben’s arm and he strode ahead of him. In another life, such a casual and familiar gesture would never have been permitted by either party. Armitage could have expected to be choked by the Force for the mere suggestion that Kylo Ren was uncivilized.

He preferred the current life where Force choking was a distant memory.

At some point along the way, Ben had managed to pull along a cart. Rather, his fingers gently encouraged the cart to follow them as they made their way to the market place by the water. Armitage had permitted himself to marvel over the gentle, mental encouragement of the cart then turned his mind to what they needed for the month ahead. He muttered the names of items under his breath and stepped closer to get a better look at the wares. For fresher food, he picked up each item and examined it with precision. There would be no use for anything that already had signs of rotting. Longevity was key. Freshness was key. He permitted Ben to input his opinion when it was necessary but, ultimately, it was Armitage who made the decision of what to purchase and what the quantity would be. Necessities came first, of course, and with the amount that he knew they needed.

After purchasing enough food for the month ahead, Ben brought up the idea that they would need new clothes. He spoke for both men. Armitage, though he didn’t admit it aloud, was tiring of wearing his father’s clothes. With no tailoring talent of his own, he’d surrendered to wearing clothing that was drowning his lean frame. Ben had seemingly not brought many changes of clothes with him—not that he wore anything different in his previous life as Kylo Ren. Regardless, the two found a shop in which they purchased shirts and trousers for casual wear rather than for when they worked outside.

Nearly an hour after they had arrived in the town center, the cart was sufficiently loaded. Armitage took count more than five times over in order to assure they had everything they needed. It was after his fifth count that he noticed Ben looking toward a brick building. The Force-user stepped to the window and seemed to be fixating on the display.

A hologame table was clearly in view and the images on it were flickering, moving about as a game seemed to be going on. There was no one playing. Clearly it was an advertisement. Armitage glanced to ensure no one would steal their cart and went to Ben’s side. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the man’s face to decipher his thought process. It was moments like this where he wished he could read minds. Ben’s expression was almost entirely unreadable. The only emotion Armitage was able to decipher was sadness and a hint of shame. Those were emotions he had gotten used to seeing when the mask was off.

“Dejarik,” Ben finally said. The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “It’s a game. My father taught it to me when I was younger. I played it with my uncles all the time.” The smile broadened at a memory.

Armitage frowned. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“It used to be a Jedi game, my uncle told me.” He looked at Armitage and clarified, “Luke.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Armitage repeated. He watched the flickering holographs move about and savagely attack one another.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have.” Ben’s hands slid in his trouser pockets again. “My dad had it on the Falcon. It would be the only thing that would keep me out of trouble.” He chewed on his lip, worrying off a thin layer of skin.

Armitage observed the rapid progression of thoughts move over Ben’s face. His reddened lips opened as if he would speak to the former general then closed before he could give life to his thoughts. He did that repeatedly until he finally went inside the building. Armitage’s brows knit together then came seamlessly apart as he went to stand in the doorway, bumping into a person who was exiting. The woman inhaled sharply in surprise then slid between Armitage and the doorframe so she could exit. The former general found himself glaring at the inconvenient woman then craning his head to watch Ben.

Within minutes, Ben was walking out with the hologame table. “Can you—“ He motioned for Armitage to step aside as he brought the table toward the cart. It visibly added weight and Armitage wondered how they would be able to bring everything back to the estate. He wondered how on earth a hologame table would be useful. He had no use for it.

“And what are you going to do with it?” He questioned as Ben loaded it onto the cart. Ben exhaled and a look of genuine happiness settled on his face. “What do you think?” He asked. Though it didn’t seem the Force user wanted a direct answer.

He curled his fingers and the cart began to move forward. Ben walked forward and turned his head over his shoulders almost immediately searching for Armitage, who automatically strode to catch up to his companion.

The journey back to the estate was filled with Ben’s explanation for how Dejarik was played. Armitage questioned the rules repeatedly though it became apparent that he understood the rules and, rather, enjoyed how frustrated Ben appeared to be getting from the constant questions. It was the general’s own form of fun.

Once they reached the drive of the estate, Armitage felt the chill entering his body and the urge to change his clothes. He found himself eager to wear his new ones. He had acquired two new blazers, three rather nice looking shirts as well as three pairs of nice trousers. He was lucky enough that he wore the same sized shoes as his father. The nicer pairs of shoes were relatively untouched and presentable. He would keep his father’s work boots for outside; they were still rather usable as well.

They were met at the door by X-3 and the other domestic droids who assisted in unloading the food provisions. Armitage swiped the cigarettes he had purchased and left it to Ben to take the hologame table. He had no idea what the man would do with it but gave the suggestion to place it in the library. It was the only logical place, he thought. He had no idea that, hours later, Ben would be knocking at his bedroom door.

He was in the midst of laying out his razor when the knocking interrupted him. Armitage opened the door to a rather excited looking Ben Solo. He didn’t realize until that moment how strange the sight must have looked; Armitage was not wearing a shirt. Thankfully he was, at least, wearing trousers. In his hands were a small dish where he had placed the shaving cream and a little brush. Both had belonged to his father long ago. Ben acknowledged the items quickly and stated, “You were in the middle of doing something.”

“No, no. Not really.” Armitage encourage the door open with his knuckles. “Is something the matter?”

Ben’s head shook, his hair falling ever so slightly into his right eye. He shook again to get it out of his sight. “Were you going to shave?”

“Yes, I was.”

Ben nodded a third time. He gestured with his thumb over his own shoulder. “I could leave.”

“Was something the matter?” Armitage asked again. He placed the small brush in the container of cream and gently began mixing the two together to create a lather. The handle of the brush gently knocked against the container, creating a gentle tick as it hit the sides.

“I was going to say that I set up the hologame table. If you’d like to play, I can teach you.”

“So you can beat me, at last?” Armitage queried. He and Ben mirrored each other with their smiles though Ben was the one who broke eye contact. The general found that momentarily endearing. _Endearing_ ; what a fond word that was in regards to Ben Solo.

“Who knows. Maybe you’ll be good at it,” Ben offered.

Armitage minded the container and lather of cream. “How generous of you to have such faith in me.” He tapped the brush against the rim. “Once I finish here, maybe I’ll join you.”

“Right.” Ben stepped to leave them stopped himself. “You’re going to shave the full thing?”

Armitage frowned. “Full thing?” He meditated. “Perhaps. It’s been some time since I’ve done it. I might go slow and see.”

Ben nodded, folding his arms. “Do you need help?”

“I’ve shaved myself before, thank you.” Armitage tapped the brush on the rim again and turned to return to his private bath. He neglected to close the door as he settled back at the sink and counter, preparing the brush and gently applying the lather on his face. It was when he focused on his own reflection that he noticed Ben lingering by the doorway.

Instead of dismissing him, surprisingly, Armitage looked at him through the mirror and said nothing. He chose to focus on the task ahead; applying the cream on his face and wetting the straight razor. He inhaled and exhaled slowly before bringing the razor over his face. It had been some time since he’d properly shaved. When he had been a general, he’d made it a ritual to attend to his face. If even the slightest hint of facial hair appeared, Armitage had made it a point to remove it from sight.

Now it was as if he was relearning this ritual. So much of it seemed familiar yet he felt entirely unpracticed. His hand was steady—no point in slitting his own throat now that he desired to keep living—but the precision was lacking. He wiped the shaving cream off his face and closely examined his handiwork.

“Not terrible,” Armitage mused aloud, inspecting his chin and cheeks. He marveled at the clear skin. So there had been a familiar face underneath all that hair. His fingertips coasted over his skin. There were some parts he’d neglected to shave closely. He applied the cream again and went over the spots. This second try was what completely cleared his face. He wiped the cream off with the towel and turned his head to look at Ben, who had leaned casually against the doorframe.

The darker haired man nodded in approval as Armitage presented his clean face. He nodded upward with his chin. “What about your hair?”

Armitage touched his hair and recalled how long it was. He blanched and looked at himself in the mirror, inspecting the length. “I don’t quite know how to do this with a razor,” he stated. Through the mirror he could see Ben smile in amusement. Armitage continued, “Nor do I trust myself to cut my own hair.”

“How did you do it before?” Ben questioned. He took a step beside Armitage and also looked at the former general’s reflection. Armitage shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t recall. I suppose I had it done by a droid.”

“Do you honestly trust X-3 to cut your hair?” Ben asked. The former general shuddered at the very thought. Of course his mind went to the worst possible scenario; X-3 becoming antagonistic and taking his master’s life. It was a brutal scene.

Armitage moved his fingers through the long locks and scowled. Then he turned his head to Ben and weighed his options. Ben immediately locked into what Armitage was thinking. “I can’t promise you it’ll look good.”

“At least take away the length. I suppose I can find a way to make it look presentable,” decided the red-haired man. “But with the razor?”

“What else would you use? My lightsaber?”

“I’d rather a less violent death, thank you,” quipped Armitage. “There’s a set of shears on the counter beside the razor.”

Ben’s eyes rolled and retrieved the shears. He hesitated. “Where can you--?”

There was no ideal place for Armitage to sit in the bathroom. He rubbed his freshly shaven cheek then glanced around the bathroom and peeked into his room. “If there’s a chair,” he reasoned, “I can use—“

“Right. Uh—“ Ben copied Armitage’s movements and looked into the bedroom. No chair. “Hang on.”

“From my study. On this floor,” Armitage instructed firmly. There was no use in Ben wandering about. There were still rooms the elder man didn’t want him fumbling into. There were things he didn’t want Ben to see. “Go there and come right back. The door should be unlocked.”

Ben nodded, momentarily flustered as he stepped out of the bath then out of Armitage’s room. The elder man followed and supervised him from the doorway. True to command, Ben found the second floor study and quickly popped in only to grab the chair and come right back.

The general stepped aside and watched Ben place the chair in the middle of the room. His arms folded across his bare chest as Ben glanced at the floor then go into the bathroom to grab a towel. Awkwardly, he motioned for Armitage to sit. The general did so and eased his back against the chair. His chest rose and fell slowly while Ben stepped in front of him to get a look at his hair.

It was strange to feel Ben’s fingers against his hair. In another life, Armitage would have reacted rather violently to have the other man so close to him with a sharp object. In fact, in that moment, his green eyes widened and he looked at Ben with mistrust. Ben became so still that Armitage could have sworn he turned into a statue.

“I’ve got it,” came Ben’s low, bass tone. It was almost calming. Armitage was reminded of the calming voice of Rae Sloane. She had never been a motherly type at all but she’d had her moments after Brendol had been particularly harsh to him. Armitage felt soothed and he nodded in time with Ben.

The fingers in his hair were rather nice, if he had to admit it. Armitage’s eyes closed as Ben began to work. Thankfully he didn’t go too fast. The first snip sounded and then the second came a little over two minutes later. Ben’s fingers slid through his hair and gently touched each strand. For someone who was tall and broad, his fingers were surprisingly gentle. Armitage thought about how much pain those fingers had inflicted. Warm pride filled him to the brim and particularly settled in his belly. It was pleasurable.

Hair delicately fell on his bare shoulders. It was rather nice if he didn’t think about the fact it was his own hair. He put the logistics of it all out of mind and instead focused on Ben’s skin against his own. Armitage’s breathing slowed and a pleased sound left his lips when Ben touched his neck.

Ben seemed to take it for a sound of protest. “Huh?”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Armitage replied in a rather lax tone. “Go on.”

He could feel the metaphorical weight lifting off his shoulders. He was almost regretful when Ben stopped and his fingers moved away from his head. Armitage’s eyes slowly opened. It felt as if he was being taken from a peaceful rest. His hand lifted to touch his hair. It was, in fact, significantly shorter. Some parts felt uneven and Armitage felt a brief pang of anxiety strike his chest. He rose to his feet and went to the bathroom to inspect his reflection.

Contrary to his fear, Ben actually did a good job. His hair was short but not cropped like he feared. His fingers moved through the freshly cut hair and he tried to move it into a semblance of how he used to style it. It wasn’t terrible. Armitage found himself rather liking it. He wet his hand in the sink and pushed his hair back. It almost scared him how much he looked like his old self. General Armitage Hux of the First Order stared back at him through the mirror for the briefest of moments. Then his hair slid out of place and the ghost of the man he had once been vanished.

Ben’s tall shadow brought Armitage out of his thoughts and he turned to look at him. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely meaning it. “You didn’t do too badly. It’s much appreciated, Ben.”

The pride on Ben’s face was not missed. Then Armitage noticed Ben’s focus shift downward. Curious, he followed the line of sight.

Ben was looking at his bare chest. He was looking at the scar that was standing starkly pink against the pale of Armitage’s shoulder. Ben’s lips parted in surprise at how vivid it was, how large it appeared to be. Armitage, on the other hand, was not surprised by it. He’d almost forgotten about it entirely until Ben had brought it back to his attention.

“It’s rather like yours, I think,” he said, bringing the focus away from himself and to Ben. Armitage frowned upon recalling the absence of Ben’s facial scar. “Well, like yours had been.” He touched his shoulder and tapped his long, pale fingers against it.

“I can get rid of it. If you want.” Ben’s voice, questioning and vulnerable, caught Armitage off-guard. His hand fell by his side and he found himself drawn to Ben’s eyes. Ben’s eyes had always been the most expressive aspect of him. For as much as he had tried to protect himself, to seem as if he did not care for anything or anyone, his eyes had always betrayed him. Armitage knew that was the reason he would wear that damned mask all the time even when it was entirely inconvenient.

Ben stepped toward Armitage and reached his hand forward until his fingertips rest against the scarred shoulder. Armitage flinched at the intimacy of the touch. He did not dare look away from Ben’s face, though the younger man was focused on his shoulder entirely. The general did not quite know how to respond to that. He hadn’t given the scar much thought. He didn’t care, really. Pryde was dead. What did it matter if Armitage still carried the scar? It wasn’t as if Enric could hurt him any longer.

“You don’t have to, Ben,” Armitage replied quietly. He found himself fixating on how gentle Ben’s fingers were and, in turn, how his palm felt against his skin. Ben’s entire palm laid against his bare shoulder. It sent tingling down into the pits of Armitage’s belly. The tingling curled deep within. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it, especially when it reached a lower area of his body. His brain didn’t entirely comprehend the sensation until Ben had removed his hand.

Nothing happened. The scar was still visible. The men were looking at one another now and neither took the opportunity to speak. Words didn’t seem appropriate. Armitage felt the tingling turning into something else that he couldn’t quite define, nor did he think he wanted to define. He felt his body go simultaneously cold and hot.

“—Dejarik,” he choked out. He pushed his hand through his newly shorted hair and continued, “You wanted to teach me how to play. I suppose we should, shouldn’t we?”

Ben seemed almost equally as flustered but he covered it with a nod and a turn. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll go get—library downstairs.” He pushed his hand through his own, longer hair and tugged at it. Armitage swore he caught a smile ghosting across his face. He found he quite like it.

“Downstairs, yes. Where you set it up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to look at Ben. They were still standing quite close.

Ben’s teeth sank into his bottom lip and he nodded. He gestured awkwardly toward the door and sucked on his teeth. “—Yeah.” With another sequence of nods, he made his way to the door and down the hall.

Once Armitage was given privacy, he took an internal scan of how he was feeling. Immediately his mind went to the sensation in his lower belly. His face flamed when he realized the exact location of the tingling and to the result of it.

Wisely, he closed the door to the hallway and locked it. A few minutes, he reasoned as he leaned his back against the door and moved his hand over the excitement in his trousers. Armitage closed his eyes and focused on the images that danced across his eyelids. He recalled the feeling of the hand in his hair, of the calming bass voice that offered to help him. Just a quick release and he would be back to normal.

This would be a passing emotion. It would pass. His heart would find its normal rhythm and the feeling of fancy and fondness would pass. This all would pass in due time.


	10. Chapter 10

Since the day they had returned with the hologame table, not a day had gone by where Ben wasn’t cursing up a storm over Dejarik. He’d taught Armitage to play and that had taken nearly two entire days. It wasn’t that Armitage hadn’t understood the rules. On the contrary; he understood the rules too well and used this understanding to his own advantage. Halfway through the first day, he’d caught on and feigned ignorance just to see how angry he could make Ben. When they broke for dinner and tea, Armitage had suggested they play a game to test his abilities. He wished he’d been able to capture the look on Ben’s face when he had revealed how comfortable he was with the rules. The tirade of cursing that followed was equally as priceless.

They made it a point to make time for Dejarik every day, even if it was quite late at night. Even when Armitage was dead tired from a rather long evening of cutting wood or tending to the land. Ben, too, would drag himself into the library and sit himself at the table, waiting in a remarkably patient manner for Armitage to finish a chapter in his book or to consume the last drops of tea. Some days they could only manage one or two rounds before their joint frustrations or exhaustion would lead to either an argument or one of them leaving for bed.

Sometimes the games would be interrupted by arguments or an intrusive thought on a matter other than strategy. Armitage would often make a comment on Ben’s potential movements and it would cause a rather heated disagreement over whose strategy would result in victory. It would devolve into verbal jabs over leadership. Armitage found his method of argument was often more quiet and biting rather than Ben’s outbursts. Clearly the death of Kylo Ren hadn’t meant the death of Ben’s raging temper and destructive tendencies. Ben had broken Armitage’s tables and couches in fits of rage only to have spent the following morning reparing them to the best of his ability. Thankfully, he knew better than to touch the books. Armitage would likely have killed Ben with his own lightsaber if any of the books were destroyed.

Armitage found he rather liked the introduction of the game into their developing routine. He even liked the verbal spats they got into, even if it resulted in the two men not speaking for the rest of the night into the next morning. It helped him keep his mind occupied on something new and interesting. He enjoyed his books but he was finding that the constant researching and hours of staring at small print was straining his eyes. He disliked this new discovery; it made him feel old.

He realized, nearly three weeks after the hologame table came into their lives, that he was another year older. It was a day like any other yet something had shifted internally in the former general. Armitage had bathed and dressed himself for the day only to be greeted by X-3 at his doorway. The droid reported that he, Armitage Hux, had entered his thirty-sixth year of life.

Thirty-six years he had been alive. Armitage had acknowledged the droid’s report—a congratulations, he theorized—and found himself consumed with the reality of his age as he descended the stairs. Logically he shouldn’t be alive. If Enric Pryde had been a better shot, Armitage would be dead right now. But because the old man had been shaking, weakened by the cruel reality of advancing age, Armitage was alive. He was alive and carried on the legacy of the men he hated. He pondered this legacy as he neglected going to the kitchen and sat at the head of the long dining table in the ballroom. His elbow leaned on the arm of the chair and his eyes went unfocused as he thought about the previous year. Truly, nothing noteworthy happened. Yes his entire life had been upended and he was back where he had been born, but what had he truly accomplished? Nothing.

His birth. Armitage’s mind went next to the picture of himself as an infant in his father’s arms. He recalled the lock of his own hair kept safe in his father’s desk. His chest tightened. He felt pain close to his heart. He cleared his throat and shook his head as if he could shake off the feeling. Armitage inhaled sharply and, again, shook off the fog that was clouding his thoughts. It was a fog of panic he hadn’t felt in nearly a month. Had it truly been that long since he’d dared to dwell on his past?

“Happy birthday, I suppose.”

Ben’s voice brought him completely out of the fog. He was dressed rather nicely; wearing clean, seemingly pressed black trousers and a white dress shirt. His shoes were not the boots that he typically wore around the estate and out on the grounds, but rather nice looking black shoes that were up to the former general’s standards. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows but that did not bother Armitage at all. In fact, he was rather impressed at the effort Ben seemed to take.

Armitage straightened his spine and nodded in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

Ben remained standing, shifting his weight as he seemed to muster up more words to say. “You don’t do anything to celebrate, do you?”

“Why would I? It’s another day.” Armitage scratched at the back of his head and looked over Ben. “You look rather nice.” His eyes lifted to the other’s face. His beard and mustache were growing a bit darker. It was growing in a bit thicker, bolder, as well as slightly longer.

Ben looked down at his own attire then at Armitage with a muted expression. “Oh, thanks. We did enough for collecting wood so no use in going outside. It’s pretty bad out there.”

“Is it?” Armitage questioned, watching as Ben took a seat beside him. He noticed that he didn’t have food with him.

“Down-pouring,” grunted Ben. “I was going to see if I could practice with my, uh, lightsaber.” He paused. “I know you don’t give a damn about me using it in here.”

Armitage was momentarily confused at Ben’s statement. “I said I don’t particularly like when you use the Force,” he clarified. “As long as you don’t break anything, I don’t care if you practice with your saber in here. Again, don’t break anything.” He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and moved his fingers against one another as if rubbing something invisible between them. Ben’s eyes watched the fingers for a second before meeting Armitage’s eyes again.

“Alright, then. I’ll find a room and practice there.”

There was a hum of confirmation as Armitage began to think of his age again. “Thirty-six,” he mused.

“What?”

Their eyes met again. Armitage ceased moving his fingers. “Thirty-six,” he stated. “That’s how old I am today. I’m sure you know that.”

Ben was about to protest—Armitage could tell by the way his features changed—but he thought better of it. “Right,” he confirmed. “That means my birthday is next month.”

“Is it?” Armitage asked. He knew better. He’d nearly memorized Kylo Ren’s information when he’d come to the _Finalizer_. The fact they were five years apart in age had momentarily stunned the general but he had quickly dismissed the gap when their antagonistic relationship had been established. He hadn’t, however, made the connection that their birthdates were almost a month apart.

His brows raised at the new information. His fingers resumed moving together. “Well then,” he mused, leaving the thought out in the open. A new, intrusive thought plagued him. “I suppose you won’t want to spend the date of your birth here. You’d rather be with your friends in the Republic. I wouldn’t blame you.”

Ben immediately reacted to that. He seemed utterly confused as to why Armitage would even say such a thing. “You think they’re my friends?”

“Aren’t they?” Armitage’s shoulders raised and lowered as he adopted a careless tone. “Don’t you still speak to them?”

“Since when does working with them make them my friends?” Ben questioned.

“The scavenger—“

Ben immediately clarified, “ **Rey**.”

 _Oh, she has a name now_ , Armitage couldn’t help but think.

He received a swift jab in his head. Ben’s voice: _That’s always been her name. Use it._ It irritated him immediately.

“Rey,” Armitage scowled, “is your friend, isn’t she?”

“It’s complicated,” Ben said, shifted in his head and tugging at his hair.

“How is friendship that complicated? She either is or isn’t your friend,” Armitage pressed.

Ben scowled and shot back, “You’re complicated. Our friendship is complicated.”

That stopped Armitage for a moment, but for only a moment. “Our friendship is different,” he said rather quietly, thoughtfully. He hadn’t entirely settled on the idea that he and Ben were entirely friends. In fact, Armitage wasn’t sure he’d ever had a friend before. He’d had allies, yes, but never friends. Captain Phasma came to mind but she was a weak example. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he had considered Phasma a friend. She had been useful to him and, if he allowed himself to think of her, he found he thought of her fondly. She had been more than useful to him. They had helped each other over the years of knowing one another. Phasma had been more loyal than anyone Armitage had ever known and she had died in service to him. For that, he supposed he would consider her a friend.

But Ben? Was this what it was like to have a _living_ friend?

 _Friends don’t get aroused when their friends walk by them_ , a voice in his head could not resist whispering to him. Armitage desperately hoped Ben hadn’t been probing his head in that moment.

Self-assessment: no sharp pains in his head. No intrusions. His mind was safe.

He had been so lost in his thoughts that Armitage hadn’t noticed Ben angle his body closer. He suddenly noticed how Ben’s fingers curled against his lips as he waited for a response. The peak of his middle finger moved over his Cupid’s bow and the underside of his mustache. Armitage was distracted by the movement of Ben’s fingers and the shape of his top lip. His green eyes finally met Ben’s vibrant, rich brown ones. He found his chest seize at the intensity of his gaze.

“Our friendship,” Armitage repeated, “is different. But complicated nonetheless.”

That seemed to be the answer Ben wanted to hear. At least partly. He rested his chin on his hand, now. “We’re friends,” he said. He seemed too pleased by that.

“Don’t get too comfortable with the idea. We’re only friends when I don’t beat you in Dejarik.” Armitage mirrored Ben’s hand placement on his own face.

Ben turned his head so his hand was in his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Or when I take off my boots before I come inside,” he pointed out. “We’re especially friends then.”

Never had Armitage thought he would consider Ben Solo a friend. He found he rather liked this development.

Ben’s head gestured to the doorway. “Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.” He stood abruptly and fixed the chair, pushing it into the table. The scraping echoed across the vast space.

Armitage couldn’t resist the look of annoyance as he calmly stood and pushed in his chair. “Can’t you do things slow and not make a ruckus?”

Ben had begun walking out of the room but Armitage could still hear muttering under his breath. He caught up in two quick strides. He wondered if Ben often forgot how evenly matched they were in height. There was only about two inches difference between them. “What was that, Solo?”

Ben turned around to walk backward and muttered again, mocking Armitage’s accent in a manner that caused the former general’s mouth to go agape. “No, I don’t sound like that. Stop it.”

“No I don’t sound like that,” Ben mimicked, “stop it.”

Armitage blanched. “That is the foulest impression I have _ever_ heard.”

Ben stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against the stone wall. “See, that’s why it’s so easy to make fun of you. You use words like that!”

“Like what?!”

“ _Foul_. No one says that.”

He smacked Ben’s chest with the back of his hand and began down the stairs. “People with rich vocabularies say that,” he called up to the other.

Ben’s descent created thumping echoes down the stone staircase. “You’re saying I don’t have a rich vocabulary?” He queried. Armitage had waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. They began walking in sync with one another toward the kitchen.

“I’m saying I was raised to speak--“ Armitage considered his word choice. “—with the intention that I would be interacting with people of higher classes.”

“What, like the Empire officials?” The men stepped through the doorway into the kitchen. Ben retrieved two mugs while Armitage put the kettle on for tea. He opened a small pot he kept the tea leaves in and began to prepare the bags. “Yes,” replied Armitage, “like Empire officials. My father’s friends, as well as my step mother’s.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line as he thought of Maratelle. He hoped she was dead, now.

Ben was quiet for a moment. “What about your mother?”

It was as if the breath was taken from his lungs. Armitage glared at Ben, insisting, “Do not speak about her.”

“I know, you know?” Ben cautiously continued. “About her.”

The general exhaled through his nose and harshly pushed the tea leaf pot back. It hit the wall harshly. It wouldn’t be surprising if there was a crack on the porcelain. He pushed his hand through his hair, messing it up rather than smoothing it down. A few strands fell over his eyes. “We’re ending this conversation,” Armitage directed.

But Ben did not seem to be willing to give up the topic. He braced against the counter. “What do you know about her?”

“That she was a whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed,” spat Armitage. “Now stop talking about her.”

Ben’s head tilted as he observed Armitage’s reaction. The former general’s knuckles were bone white as he braced against the counter. His chest felt as if it were tightening. He tasted copper in his mouth. He felt ill at the very thought of his lineage.

“Is that what your father told you?”

Ben’s voice was quieter, measured. Armitage recognized this tone from when Kylo Ren would be interrogating prisoners. He recognized the manipulative aspect. He internalized how he, himself, was feeling; lulled into a false sense of security so he could divulge his weaknesses.

“It’s the truth, Ren,” Armitage seethed. There was a change in the air between them.

He could sense Ben’s energy shifting. “Ben,” corrected the younger man.

“I don’t give a damn. You’ll stop this line of questioning now.”

The kettle had begun to reach its boiling point. Armitage chose to focus on that rather than the fury and illness surging through his veins. The elder man wondered if Ben knew exactly what he was doing.

_Don’t be a fool. Of course he does._

It was his father’s voice, now, instead of his own. Harsh, guttural, and always lurking in the shadows. Even death couldn’t keep Brendol away. Of course it couldn’t; not when Armitage was constantly reminded of the man every second of every day in the house he had been conceived in. Armitage’s eyes widened as he thought of the picture and the lock of hair upstairs in his father’s belongings. The goddamn picture of himself as a newborn, placed in his father’s arm as if he were a propaganda piece. The hair—had it been lovingly cut from his head thirty-six years ago today or had it been shorn out of some twisted tradition? Had the woman who had birthed him even held him in her arms? Had she loved him?

_Had she even cared?_

Why did it matter? She was a weak whore nonetheless. He was glad she was dead or disappeared. She had given him life but taken it at the same time. In the eyes of his father, of the entire galaxy, he was a bastard. Yes, he had taken supreme command and destroyed worlds, but what did it all result in? This; in a life worse than death.

He became acutely aware that he wasn’t able to breathe. He wasn’t able to take enough air into his lungs. His thoughts were rapidly spiraling downward. He began to feel as if his entire body was being pulled down into the depths of darkness. Armitage recalled witnessing his father pushing failed trainees into the dark depths of the Arkanisian waters. The children had been doomed to either drown or be torn to pieces by the creatures that lived in the murky shadows.

Armitage hadn’t realized he had slid to the ground until Ben appeared in his vision. It was as if Armitage had opened his eyes from a long dream. Or, rather, as if Ben was the rays of light shining through a tunnel of dark. The next thing he became aware of was the shrill whistling of the kettle. Ben moved out of immediate sight for a moment then resumed kneeling in front of him. He was sitting back on his haunches with his hands resting on his thighs. He was warily observing Armitage as the latter sat on the floor against the counter, his chest rising and falling quickly as he fought through the racing thoughts.

An illogical thought that undoing the top buttons of his shirt could help him breathe easily crossed his mind. Armitage went through with the action, unbuttoning his shirt down to his breastbone. His hand rest against the spot as he monitored his own erratic breathing. A sharp inhale through the nose followed by an exhale through the mouth. He tried to ground himself by focusing on Ben’s face. His eyes flittered between the other’s brown eyes and his mouth.

Ben leaned forward about an inch but ensured there was enough space for Armitage to breathe. The former general flinched and leaned his head against the counter. His hand pressed into his own sternum as if it could phase through flesh and bone.

“Hux,” Ben said. There went the calming bass of his voice. It was stirring Armitage out of his stupor bit by bit. Even a few breaths later, his breathing was still panicked and labored. Dark splotches pricked at his vision, threatening to overtake him yet again.

Ben’s voice broke through again: “ _Armitage_.”

Armitage found himself grounded by the sound of his first name. He locked sights with Ben and timed his own breathing with the man’s. He wasn’t sure if Ben was doing it purposefully but he followed along regardless. Ben’s breathing was silent so he chose to focus on the gentle rising and falling of his chest and shoulders. Eventually, he managed to sit upright and pushed his hand through his own hair. He broke eye contact to stare down at his own body; at the legs that splayed out in front of him. He bent his right knee up and leaned the weight of his right arm against it. His fingers scraped against his scalp and twisted strands of red hair. The time passed with neither Ben nor Armitage saying a word. They just breathed together. Their breaths synched during the silence.

He was the one who broke the stillness and silence. Armitage offered his hand to Ben and reengaged eye contact. Ben slowly took his hand then seemed to understand what was being suggested. First he stood. Then he pulled Armitage to his feet. Warily, he asked, “You okay?”

Armitage smoothed his trousers and fixed his shirt. He smoothed down his hair and nodded in response before regaining the ability to speak calmly. “Yes.” He cleared his throat and recalled how his shirt was unbuttoned. Trembling, twitching fingers moved to re-button but fumbled on the first two. He tsked at his missteps, feeling flustered. Ben’s fingers reached into his field of vision and took over buttoning his shirt. Armitage refused to look at him, instead watching the fingers move up the row of buttons. Inevitably, he had to look at Ben as he finished buttoning up to his collarbone.

“Leave the top,” Armitage said vacantly.

Ben’s fingers stopped moving. He dropped his hands back down to the sides. “—Off-limits,” he said. The manner in which he phrased it, Armitage thought, was awfully vague.

He nodded in confirmation then scrubbed his hand over his own face as if attempting to wipe any trace of the previous occurrence from existence. The next moment surprised the former general; Ben’s hand touched his shoulder and squeezed. Armitage looked at him from between his fingers in astonishment. Ben was rather uncertain when faced with the general’s reaction but his hand remained firm on his shoulder. It felt rather warm. Instead of shrugging it off, however, Armitage allowed it to remain.

Ben seemed just as awed by Armitage’s decision as the man himself was. They gazed at one another until Ben commented, “Tea’s cold.”

The bewilderment on Armitage’s face said more than words ever could. And then, he began to laugh.

The concern on Ben’s face was palpable but he did not say a word edgewise as Armitage laughed. The former general brought his hand to his mouth as if to shield his laughter and mirth from the other, but that hand shook too much to do any actual hiding. His shoulders rose toward his ears and he began to hunch as he continued to laugh, though his rational mind had no idea what he was laughing about. Burning pricked his eyes and stung mercilessly.

Once Armitage forced himself to straighten his spine, he realized that the burning in his eyes had resulted in tears that were quickly sliding down his face. With a swipe of his fingers, he removed any evidence of tears and wiped them on his hip. Armitage was directly staring at the ground as silence once again fell like a heavy curtain between himself and Ben, who was still standing rather close to the former general. Armitage found his hands bracing back against the edge of the counter and his hips, too, resting there as he took stock of the situation. It was rather unbecoming of himself but Ben had already seen this rather irrational and hysterical side to him once before. Immediately he hated the fact Ben had to bear witness to this yet again.

But, rather than voicing a judgmental opinion, Ben was letting Armitage have his space and his time to collect himself. His hand still remained on the older man’s shoulder. His fingers pressed into a soft part of his back and shoulder. Armitage decided he rather preferred it. It drew his attention back to the man standing before him. He inspected Ben’s face; the shock had gone, yes, and he was watching him with as much caution as an animal in the wild.

Something switched in his body. Armitage couldn’t describe it other than an overwhelming wave. Once his mouth opened, he found he couldn’t take the words back even if he wanted to.

“—I don’t know anything about her. My mother. Nor do I think I want to.” When he breathed in, he found his breath was irregular. His eyes shifted from Ben’s face to the middle of his chest. The whiteness and soft nature of the fabric drew his eyes and made it more bearable to speak, though he seemed to struggle with discovering the correct words. “Yet there is something about being here that—“

He swallowed involuntarily and gesticulated with his hand as if he could conjure the words as easily as Ben seemed to conjure the Force. “—I feel bouts of fatigue, sickness. I remember things and it infuriates me. It makes me feel _weak_.”

Even as he rambled on, he did not once lift his head to ensure Ben was listening to him. He didn’t need to; not with the firm pressing of fingers in his shoulder and the sense that Ben’s entire being was attending to him.

Armitage continued: “There are things here that I find myself drawn to over and over. That I wish to forget, to destroy, but I cannot bring myself to do it. Things parts of me wish to discover but things I would rather I not know. Like _her_.”

He found himself choking on saliva and sputtered. The hysteria was inching to the forefront again. He detected that the gesticulating hand—his right one—was now bracing on Ben’s arm. Now he redirected his attention to Ben and saw the frailness of his expression. He was open, receiving and reflecting Armitage’s emotion right back to him. It was too hard to look at. It was too difficult to keep his composure when faced with the personification of the storm brewing inside.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed again and he opted to concentrate on that rather than the rising hysteria. Armitage hadn’t realized how near Ben was until he could feel his breath on his shoulder and neck. His own hand covered Ben’s. It covered the ridges of his knuckles and traced over the cold, worn texture of his skin. Yet despite its roughness—working in the cold had rather dried out his skin—there was a softness to Ben’s hand that only persuaded Armitage to keep the contact ongoing. Neither man seemed eager to pull away. In fact, it rather helped the former general calm down. It gave him something else to ground his reality into.

It was some time before either of them spoke. They both began to speak at the same time before sheepishly reacting and Armitage lifted his chin to give Ben permission to speak.

“Sometimes knowing makes it worse,” Ben reflected. “But not knowing does that too.”

 _Of course_. “Your grandfather,” Armitage said aloud.

Ben’s head nodded in confirmation. He seemed to struggle with the memory. “I get what they were trying to do. My parents. But then all my life, I felt as if I was trying to be someone I never knew. Or to not be someone I never knew. It—Everyone expected me to fulfill some type of legacy. Hell, I felt that.” He paused. “I didn’t know who I was. Finding out who my family was—really fucked me up.”

Despite the gravity of the conversation, Armitage found himself laughing at Ben’s expletive. His fingers lightly hooked on Ben’s hand and he continued to listen. Ben had permitted himself a small laugh before resuming to speak.

“You might not want to know. You might want to know.” He shrugged again. “I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong. That’s up to you.”

It wasn’t the answer he had been expecting yet Armitage felt grateful for the open-ended nature of it. He was still breathing in time with Ben and coming down from the madness that threatened to overtake him. His fingers tightened and released. He found Ben’s hand was doing the same thing in response. It filled him with reluctance to remove his hand from Ben’s and, in turn, to feel the other’s hand leave his body.

Any desire for tea or food escaped him. He pushed off where he was leaning against the counter and side-stepped Ben, making his way to the doorway. Armitage rest his hand against the doorframe and said, “Come with me.”

He didn’t wait for Ben, necessarily. He trusted the other would follow him if he so desired. When they reached the third floor, Armitage turned his head back to look at a curious Ben who was about three paces behind him. Together, they walked to Brendol’s former study and Ben stayed at the doorframe while Armitage entered. He knelt before his father’s desk and opened the drawer where the box was kept. He opened it with nimble fingers and took out both the photograph as well as the bag with the lock of his hair. His fingers closed around both and he returned to the hallway, closing the door behind him. Ben, silent and obedient, did not move until Armitage did, following him down the hall to the other unopened door.

Armitage paused as he touched the handle. Months prior, he had told X-3 to prevent Ben from intruding in this room amongst two others. He was aware of how ironic and monumental it was to be voluntarily letting him inside and letting him see what he possessed. He turned the handle and opened the door.

* * *

The room was, obviously, untouched. Armitage hadn’t been in there in months and it showed; dust collected on furniture surfaces and the bedspread was too smooth, too untouched. Again, Ben stayed by the doorway as Armitage stepped inside and took in the small room. He rested his free hand against the small dresser and he stared at the wardrobe. His chest rose and fell evenly as he took it all in again. Slowly, he sat down on the small bed and rest both the photograph and the small bag in his lap. Ben took that as a silent cue to close the door and sit beside Armitage.

He was more anxious than he would care to admit. His fingers flexed and tapped over the items as he worked on what to say. It turned out that no words would be appropriate.

 _I know._ Ben’s solid, low voice sounded in his mind. _I can feel it._

Armitage’s body tensed and he found his chest burning much as it did before one of his panicked episodes. His hands rest over the items as if protecting them. “What can you feel?”

_You._

His eyes closed and one hand closed over the bag containing his hair. He felt Ben’s hand covering his then turning over his hand to reveal the bag. Armitage opened his eyes and found tears had formed the moment Ben had revealed what he was holding. He watched as the other man removed the bag and pulled out the tied-off strands of infant hair. Instead of taking it, Ben let it rest in Armitage’s palm.

“What else do you feel?”

_You’re hurting. Because of your father._

Armitage couldn’t help the scoff. “You don’t have to be in my mind to see that.”

Ben’s fingers traced the side of Armitage’s hand. “Your father,” he said, aloud, “cared for you a little bit.”

His response was immediate and biting. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.” Ben touched the tied-off hair. He might as well have been touching Armitage’s head right now. His eyes closed as he seemed to focus. “—He loved you a little.”

Armitage found himself reliving the moments that spoke to the contrary. His head shook. “No, he didn’t.”

“He didn’t,” Ben’s voice confirmed. "Not entirely if at all." His eyes were still closed. “But he loved you enough to keep these. To remind himself of you.”

His reaction was to contradict Ben and to force him to leave. He knew Ben knew this; the darker haired man’s hand moved to hold his wrist instead of touching the hair in his hand. Armitage forced himself to look at Ben. Visually he was cut off. Emotionally, physically, the two were engaged and entangled. He felt Ben becoming more and more a part of himself. It hurt; but not in a way that physically pained him. His soul ached as Ben searched it and began to know him in a way that scared Armitage to his very core.

“But she did.” Ben’s hand moved from Armitage’s wrist up his arm. His head began to bow forward until it met Armitage’s. In that moment, he swore he and Ben were one; their breathing and emotions were more in sync than they had ever been. Ben’s hand moved to the base of his neck, keeping their heads together in case Armitage was inclined to pull away.

He was in too far deep to even want to pull away now.

Armitage felt his eyes closing. He permitted it. “What do you know?”

There was hesitation. In his mind’s eye, Armitage could see swirling images. They were blurry and inconclusive. But despite the frustrating results, a new sensation began to take hold of him. Warmth and overbearing love coursed through his system. It was almost like a caress or an embrace. It gave him the feeling of being desired unconditionally. He heard something akin to whispering. He felt something akin to being embraced by someone who truly loved him.

He felt himself convulsing at the realization. _No more. Please._

_You need to know. She loved you. Above all things, she loved you._

He broke free of the illusion and the warmth though, instead of pulling away, he found himself drawn even more into the man before him. His upper body collapsed against Ben’s and the man’s arms immediately surrounded him, albeit with uncertainty that this sort of intimate touch would be allowed. Armitage’s arms went underneath Ben’s and held at his back, his fingers pressing into the smooth fabric of his shirt. His chin was shelved on top of Ben’s shoulder. Bit by bit, Ben’s body gave into the embrace. His fingers traced a path up and down Armitage’s shoulder and spine. It only convinced Armitage to lean further into the embrace, to pursue these new feelings that the contact inspired.

It reminded him of the warmth he’d felt during the connection; the warmth, the love, and the very concept of being wanted. He wondered if they came from Ben himself. That idea scared him yet, even still, he did not pull away. Another thought appeared: Ben had said his mother had loved him above all things.

“How do you know?” Armitage asked. His voice was quiet. It reminded him of when he was a child and speaking to his father. Elements of fear were there but he didn’t fear physical repercussion. There was no reason to with Ben holding onto him as firmly as he was holding onto him. He asked again, “How do you know she loved me?”

Ben’s fingers stilled at his shoulders. Armitage felt his head turning, angling his mouth closer to his ear. “I only know what you know. I only see what you saw.”

He could not resist opening his own eyes and moving his own head to acknowledge him. His nose moved against Ben’s neck, right under his jawbone, and he could feel the man shiver in response to the touch. “I don’t remember her,” Armitage replied quietly.

“But part of you does.” Ben’s fingers bore into his back and shoulder. “You know that she did.”

“I don’t understand.” Armitage’s face pulled back from Ben’s neck so the two men could look at one another plainly and directly. Even still, they did not remove their hands from one another. Ben’s expression was emotionally barren and honest, the same as Armitage’s. But whereas Armitage felt visibly crippled and torn open by the new information, Ben was more subdued and muted.

Ben didn’t respond to that. There came a time for words to be spoken; this was not it. Honestly, Armitage preferred it if Ben didn’t respond to him. He forced himself to be satisfied with the silence and with looking directly at Ben without anything to distract either of them.

It was another short passage of time before Armitage made the silent choice to pull away and look at the bag in his lap. He touched it then placed it back in the confines of the bag then on the mattress beside him. Armitage pushed his hands over his face and through his hair to regain his composure. The photo still rest in his lap as well but it almost burned to look at it or even consider looking at it. Even still, he held it between his first three fingers and forced himself to take in the sight of his infant self being held by his father. He still found it remarkable how similar he looked to his father. It begged the question—did any part of him look like his mother? What had she given him besides life? When his father had looked at him, what part of his mother had he seen?

He glanced at Ben, who was looking at him with no trace of expectation. It was nice, honestly, to not have the pressure put upon him to make a decision. It was the first time in quite a while he had not felt the pressure. Though he could not feel Ben in his mind, he experienced a calming sensation just by having him sitting beside him. Ben’s lips twitched into something akin to a smile. Armitage found himself smiling in return and began to fold the photograph between his fingers. Half fold, then another half, and yet another half until it was a small square in-between his middle and forefingers. It was as if he were holding it like a cigarette. He debated what to do with it; it was as good as ruined now. The photo paper had been old but the creases would likely distort the image. Armitage discovered that he didn’t care; the very existence of the picture caused him nothing but pain.

Armitage rose to his feet and held the folded photograph in his palm. If he didn’t leave the room now, his courage to do what needed to be done would never return. He left Ben in the room and made his way down the stairs to the Great Hall. He didn’t bother to listen for Ben’s footsteps following him.

He stood in front of the fireplace and unfolded the photograph, taking in the image one last time. His father looking young but still as stern as he remembered. Then he looked at the newborn placed like a prop in his father’s arms. He recognized it as himself but he couldn’t fully connect to the baby. He’d never known that innocence nor the peace that came with being anywhere close to Brendol Hux. He only knew fear and punishment. He’d had his father killed for a reason. He didn’t want to leave any trace of a positive legacy for him. He didn’t deserve that.

Ben had come to stand by his side just as Armitage held the photograph into the flames. The fire licked the corner of the photograph and soon began to spread rapidly over the paper. The colors reflected in Armitage’s eyes as he watched his father’s image blacken and burn. The last thing he permitted himself to see was the flames reaching the image of himself. Then, he let it fall into the waiting inferno below.

* * *

“How the fuck are you good at this?”

Ben’s face was aghast as Armitage contemplated his final move. “No,” he said in utter disbelief. As the holographic images made their move, foiling any chance of Ben winning, the word ‘No’ increased in volume until Ben had overturned his chair and stormed from the table, ranting and raving how Armitage could win after only just learning how to properly play.

The former general grinned and lifted the cup of brandy to his mouth. The brandy had been a genuine surprise he had not expected today. Ben had presented it after Armitage had gone to check the condition of the grounds, stating he’d bought it the last time they were in town and simply hidden it from sight. The explanation, to Armitage, seemed rather shoddy but he did like to indulge in a drink once in a while. This was certainly an unexpected birthday but he welcomed it despite the tribulations of the morning. After they had both spent some time to themselves for the day, they’d come together for dinner and then decided to play Dejarik. That was when Ben had presented him with the brandy and they both began to drink and smoke. Ben wasn’t a smoker but it didn’t stop Armitage from indulging. It was his birthday, after all, and Ben couldn’t protest if he wanted to. It was still Armitage’s estate; the Force-user had to abide by _some_ rules, after all.

The liquor felt nice on his tongue and going down his throat. Armitage set the glass down and gestured for Ben to return. “Come on, I’m sure round seven will be your lucky game. I’m sure of it.”

“How the _fuck_ are you so good at this? I played it all the time when I was a kid! How are you so _good_?” Ben exclaimed. His fingers tore at his hair. His shirt was unbuttoned as, apparently, an intoxicated Ben had convinced himself that it was too hot in the library. According to Armitage, it was the same temperature that it was every day but Ben insisted today was different. He chose not to push the issue. In fact, it was rather funny to see Ben in a relaxed state like this. His tongue was looser and he seemed to be free of any inhibitions sobriety forced upon him.

“Mark that down as another thing I’m better at than you,” Armitage replied haughtily, finishing off his glass. It must have been his third or fourth. Perhaps his sixth, actually. He’d lost count as the games grew more intense between them. He wasn’t feeling as intoxicated as he thought he would. Perhaps alcohol simply didn’t affect him. He’d had casual nips from his decanter onboard the _Finalizer_ and even onboard the other Star Destroyers. His tolerance, he suspected, hadn’t changed.

He was proven wrong when he stood and lost a bit of his balance. “Shit,” muttered Armitage as he braced a hand on the hologame table. The room had started to spin the minute he put his weight on his feet. Ben was bracing a hand against a bookshelf and muttered a, “Whoa,” in response. Despite his spinning vision, Armitage saw Ben grinning.

“Shut up, will you?” He said non-maliciously. “You’re just as bad off.”

“Oh really?”

“You’re—that!” He gesticulated to Ben’s current position.

“I’m what?” Ben questioned through a laugh. He leaned against the shelves with his arms folded.

A few books, improperly shelved, became tilted as a result. Another murmured surprise left Ben’s lips and drew Armitage’s ire. He walked over to where Ben was and reached beyond his shoulder to fix the books.

“A disaster,” Armitage responded as he stood the books upright.

To retort, Ben pushed his shoulder with his fingers and crossed his arms. One brow raised at the push. “Oh, I’m sorry, are we children?” He asked.

Despite the question, he shoved Ben back and turned to lean against the shelf and copied the crossed arms. In vain, Armitage attempted to look stern. Ben’s eyes narrowed in response and it sent them both into fits of laughter.

Armitage pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged the area. “I haven’t had this much to drink since--“

A stream of air released between a narrow divide in his teeth and lips. He lingered on it a bit too long. He couldn’t help it; apparently intoxication meant words did not come as easily to him. He chuckled at the sound. It was like the whistling of a tea kettle. He chuckled deep in his throat at the realization. Where on earth had that thought come from?

He felt his shoulder bump against Ben’s as they laughed again. “You don’t drink. Didn’t drink,” Ben said curiously. “Not like this, at least.”

“No,” Armitage confirmed. “Not like this. It’s improper. It’d be improper for my men to see me like this.” He cleared his throat. “Did you?”

Ben shook his head. “No. Not until we got to Chandrila. It’s okay. I get the appeal.” He leaned his head back against the books. “Got me through some situations.”

“What sort of situations?” Armitage turned his head toward Ben.

“Dealing with everyone. Poe, Finn. Sometimes Rey.” The right side of his face twitched. “It’s been difficult getting them to trust me entirely. Don’t think Poe and Finn are entirely convinced.”

“I’d wager the entire galaxy isn’t on board with trusting you.”

Again, Ben’s face twitched. “You’re right about that.” His fingers tightened on his arms. Armitage found himself drawn to the sight of the tightened material over Ben’s arms. His arms were rather strong.

He forced himself to look at the other man’s face. “You’ve been away from them for some time.”

“Six months,” Ben replied without missing a beat. Armitage felt himself startled by the quick response. Had it truly been that long? He’d lost track, certainly, of time but had it truly been that long?

Ben seemed to sense his surprise. “Give or take a few weeks.” His fingers tapped on his upper arm.

“How long were you originally meant to be here for?”

He observed the tense smile cross Ben’s mouth. “Three months, at the most,” he replied.

Armitage turned his body toward Ben’s. “What do your people think of you being gone so long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit, you know. You won’t tell me.”

Ben’s head lolled toward Armitage and he raised a finger to his own mouth. “You had your secrets. I have mine.”

Armitage glared. He batted Ben’s hand away from his mouth and pressed, “I believe I made you privy to what was haunting me. I have the right to know what’s haunting you.”

“You think I’m being haunted? By ghosts?” Ben crossed his arms over his chest.

Armitage’s head leaned against the books, disturbing them from where they rested. “Isn’t that how you communicate with them, essentially? As a ghost?”

Ben’s head shook. He, too, leaned his head against the books and spoke through slurring words. “No, it’s not like that. Not to people who are alive. You just sort of—you sort of—project to them.” He gesticulated with his fingers as he formulated the word. His brows scrunched together. “Sort of. At least to Rey, yeah. Project, I guess.”

“Can you see her?”

“Not her surroundings. Just her.” Ben’s shoulders shrugged. “It’s just us who can do it, I think. I haven’t tried with anyone else. Not that anyone’s reached out to me like that.” He rubbed underneath his eye and dropped the hand by his side. “She asks me when I’m going to come back. There’s still—things to be done. She wants to find more Jedi. To train them. To pass on what we know.”

Armitage’s expression softened. “Do you want to?”

Ben’s shoulders shrugged again. “I think so. One day. I don’t know. It’s hard being around all of that. It’s hard—decompressing. If that makes any sense.” He shook his head at the word choice. “I needed something else to do. I felt like I was going crazy there. Then Dany came and I heard you were alive—“

“And they told you to bring me to them,” Armitage finished. “You haven’t.”

“Obviously,” Ben snorted. Then he fell silent. His eyes moved as if he were seeing something Armitage was not privy to. His expression softened and opened up.

Armitage considered Ben’s pensive expression. He uncrossed his arms, letting one swing. The back of his hand nudged Ben’s as it swung toward him. Ben’s attention was caught by the hand and he looked at Armitage, startled for the moment.

“Why haven’t you gone back?” He asked quietly.

Ben’s response was delayed. His eyes searched the floor for the right thing to say. It genuinely interested Armitage to see Ben struggling for an answer. His body completely faced Ben’s and he leaned a bit closer. His hand brushed against Ben’s and their knees almost touched. That realization might have embarrassed Armitage if he were entirely sober. Ben’s eyes went to their hands then traveled up to Armitage’s face. Both men’s eyes were heavy lidded; certainly in part due to the amount of alcohol in their respective systems. Armitage, for his part, felt a cozy feeling settle through his body. It drew him closer to Ben. His pinky finger poked itself in between Ben’s pinky and ring finger. It was remarkably bold. Part of him wondered if he would dare do this sober. Another part wondered if this was something he genuinely wanted to pursue. He was curious if he would regret this boldness.

Ben didn’t seem to react negatively. Rather, his head tilted to the side as he regarded their hands again. His face twitched into a reflective smile as he let Armitage’s fingers move against his own.

Armitage asked again: “Why haven’t you gone back?” His voice was softer, akin to a whisper. His head felt heavy as it bowed forward and leaned against Ben’s much as it had hours earlier.

The context was very different from before.

Armitage could feel Ben’s breath against his cheek. He swore he could feel both their hearts beating from their chests. He wondered, again, if it was due to the alcohol that Ben allowed this. He could hear Ben swallow and part his lips. Armitage’s own lips parted and he felt air escaping his lungs. His mind raced with the scenarios put before them.

“—We should sober up,” came Ben’s response.

“Why?” Armitage asked. They were still too close. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Ben hummed. His eyes were closed. “Because I have to train tomorrow and want to have a clear head for it. You don’t do well when you’re tired. Or hungover, I guess."

“I don’t do well when I’m left unanswered,” Armitage breathed.

“You also don’t do well when you make spontaneous decisions.” Ben pointed out. His fingers, regardless, moved against Armitage’s in a manner that contradicted his words. “You like to plan. And you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Why do you think I’d regret being close with a friend? We are friends, aren’t we?”

Ben did not respond to that. His hand lifted from Armitage’s to touch his face with the tips of his fingers. For a moment, Armitage swore their mouths would touch. He tilted his head in preparation.

Ben’s cool voice, instead, breathed, “You’ve had an eventful birthday. Go to bed.”

Armitage opened his eyes and stared at Ben. His more rational mind began to overtake the intoxicated, impulsive one. Ben was right. There was a chance both of them would regret being overtaken by more primal emotions. Who’s to say the liquor hadn’t conjured these feelings?

Deep down, however, Armitage knew this was false. He considered these thoughts as he and Ben made their way from the library up to the second floor where their respective rooms were located. Armitage’s room was closest and he rest his back against the door as he and Ben came by it. His heavy-lidded eyes regarded Ben and how close he was still standing. Ben’s crooked smile etched itself into Armitage’s mind. He swore that Ben had swayed close to him. His hand definitely touched something firm in the general vicinity of Ben’s torso. It might have been to steady him. Who’s to say?

Ben’s voice was close as he murmured, “Happy birthday,” to Armitage. The general nodded and regarded Ben’s face with a caress of the hand. His thumb traced over the sharpness of his cheekbone.

“You need to shave,” Armitage muttered. Ben’s eyes rolled but he admitted, “I do.”

“Tomorrow. I’ll return the favor,” the general ensured. “I’ll remember.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ben replied. He didn’t move from under Armitage’s hand. In fact, one of his hands braced against the door. His chest was positioned only inches from Armitage’s chest. It would have been remarkably easy for either man to close the gap and release the tension brewing between them.

But, as much as Armitage did not want to admit it, Ben was right. Either of them might regret making such an impulsive decision.

“Make sure I get in okay?” Armitage asked.

“What for? It’s your room,” came Ben’s response from deep in his chest.

“You never know. A lot of things can happen in a few seconds. Attack, sabotage. All sorts of treason. Droids finally gaining autonomy and deciding to rebel.”

Ben laughed at the ludicrous statement. Armitage, too, began to laugh and leaned his head back against the door. Ben’s forehead pressed against the door to steady himself. As their laughter quieted down, Armitage’s hand went to Ben’s neck. The darker haired man gave his attention to the general. Again, the two men rest their foreheads against one another. The only space between them was the one between their mouths. It had the potential to be closed completely.

“Come inside,” Armitage breathed. His head was spinning. His legs didn’t feel like _his_ legs. The words coming out of his mouth did not feel like _his_ words. He could only imagine reflecting upon this moment in the morning. He wondered how Ben would react once they were both back in their rational minds.

“You know I shouldn’t.” Ben’s voice was quiet.

“But do you want to?”

Again, it seemed Ben wouldn’t answer his question. Ben’s body pulled away from Armitage’s and he gazed at him with such gentility that the general felt his chest drop deep into the earth; below the foundations of the estate and into the very core of the planet that it was built upon.

“Happy birthday, Armitage,” Ben replied. His hand—rough yet somehow still soft—regarded Armitage’s face then dropped to his shoulder before, finally, coming back to his side. His smile was muted as he gave the general one last look then walked down the hallway to his room, closing the door and leaving Armitage alone in the hall.

He didn’t recall letting himself inside his room, nor did he recall the minute he collapsed on his bed still fully clothed. The pillows and blankets cradled his body as he curled between them. The world still spun despite the fact he had shut his eyes to all of it. As he drifted off into a rather steady sleep, he recalled Ben’s voice and his touch. When he drifted off, it was Ben who filled his thoughts. It was the shape of his body, the strange way he smiled or the way his eyes nearly disappeared when he smiled. It was the manner in which his teeth were not entirely straight that he fixated on as well as how a chuckle rumbled deep within his chest before he genuinely laughed. It was the chaotic manner in which he reacted to Armitage beating him in another game of Dejarik. Then it was the manner in which Ben was patient with him; how he had been ridiculously patient with him from the moment he had arrived. It was how he dealt with Armitage’s bouts of paranoia and how he had conversed so freely with him about his own past.

When Armitage drifted off, he thought at last about how Ben’s body had angled itself toward him and given him the attention he’d craved. When he drifted off, he thought of how strangely beautiful he was; despite all his oddities. He thought of how grateful he was that Ben had decided to stay with him. That Ben Solo had chosen him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning was not as awkward as the general thought it would be. He awoke with a dull headache. Nothing too terrible; he’d been expecting worse. Armitage retreated to his bath to cleanse his body and reflect on the vivid memories of the previous day. He did, in fact, remember everything. It didn’t worry him entirely, although he experienced a brief concern that Ben would hold his boldness against him. The weaker aspect of his mind wondered if he should retreat to his study for the day much as he had weeks and months prior. It would be easy to fall back into a safe routine. It would be easy to deny his bold actions. Yet, as he stared at himself in the mirror while he dressed in clean clothes, Armitage wondered what path would reveal itself if he chose the more nerve-wracking option; confronting these feelings that had suddenly crept to the surface.

Rather than avoiding him, Armitage found himself greeted by Ben when he walked into the kitchen. They bumped into each other in the doorway and nearly spilled the cups of caf and tea onto each other. Ben looked rather well-rested. He was not dressed as properly as Armitage; having had opted for casual black trousers and a black shirt which revealed his bare shoulders.

“Morning,” Ben said, steadying the cups as the liquids sloshed about.

Armitage nodded and gestured to the cups. “Do you need help?” He questioned, reaching a hand to take the cup of caf.

“Actually, yeah. Take this—“ Ben held the caf cup forward for Armitage to take. “Figured you’d want both. How’re you feeling?”

Armitage lifted the cup to his mouth. It wasn’t too hot nor was it lukewarm. He nodded in approval and took another sip as they both began to move upstairs. “Surprisingly well, so far. We’ll see what happens in a couple of hours.” He placed one hand against the wall to steady himself as he walked up the stairs. He turned to look after Ben, waiting for the man to come by his side. “How are you feeling?”

Ben nodded in response. “For someone who never really drank, I’m doing fine.” It seemed to be true. Ben didn’t look disheveled on the outside. In fact, he seemed rather awake and ready to move on with his day.

“Are you eating?” Armitage questioned when they had both seated themselves at the dining table.

Ben placed the tea cup at Armitage’s place and shook his head. “Not until after. I normally fast before I train.”

Thoughtfully, Armitage hummed from behind the caf cup. He already felt the caffeine working through his system. The tea would help balance out the tiredness as well as the jolt of energy it gave him. He had to hand it to Ben for his foresight. He finished with the caf in an efficient manner then moved onto the tea. He was thankful for something to keep his attention.

“Where will you train?” Armitage questioned casually, tipping the contents of the cup into his mouth rather demurely.

Ben’s fingers were tapping on the edge of the table. He shrugged once and looked toward the windows. “It’s not raining too badly,” he mused aloud. “I’ll go down the path until I get rained out.”

“What exactly do you need to train properly? Don’t you need equipment?” Armitage queried, setting the base of the cup in his other hand whilst holding the handle with his other fingers. He, too, began tapping his fingers against the side of his cup in a similar fashion to Ben’s tapping.

“Not really.” Ben regarded Armitage’s moving fingers then the man himself. “I have an idea of what I need to do. I’ll adjust to what I have access to.”

Armitage nodded and brought the cup to his mouth again. He sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on the tea. It was, admittedly, a rather awkward silence. He wanted to say more, to ask more questions but it was hard to avoid the topic at hand. He pressed his mouth in a line then took another drink from the cup, finishing the heated beverage. He placed the tea cup right beside his caf cup and nodded in thanks to Ben. “Thank you,” he said.

Ben acknowledged him and stood up from his chair. “I’ll see you in a bit? I’ll just be outside. Near the woods I think.”

“Change your shoes before you come in,” Armitage reminded him, standing as well and gathering the two cups in both hands. “You know I hate how mud is tracked in.”

Ben pushed in his chair. “I won’t,” he defiantly replied. Armitage narrowed his eyes at him which only spurred Ben to grin at him. Ben accompanied him down toward the basement and parted ways to go outside while Armitage went to the kitchen.

He picked at a small bit of fresh fruit from the refrigeration unit but found he didn’t quite have the appetite he should. His stomach still felt rather heavy from the alcohol he had drunk the previous night as well as from the anxieties that had plagued him. No matter, he determined as he filled a glass of water and drank from it. So far, he wasn’t feeling any ill effects from the amount he drank. Nor were there any immediate repercussions from Ben.

His mind wandered to the scene that had taken place outside his room. Armitage found his lips curling upward as he reflected. It had seemed like a fantasy conjured from some primal part of his mind; Ben with a hand pressed against the door and their bodies close to one another to fully touch. Their forehead drawn together and the space between their mouths could have easily been closed.

He wondered where the sudden attraction had come from. It seemed as if it had been conjured out of nowhere. It was true that he found Ben attractive. He wondered if he had found Kylo Ren just as pleasing to the eye or if years of hostility had ruined the image of the man’s attractiveness.

Armitage supposed, as he sat at his couch in the library, that he hadn’t been permitted to think of Kylo Ren in the way he now thought of Ben Solo. There had been moments where he would spare a passing thought toward the man’s beauty—particularly when he was either training or in battle. It was more for the latter scenario that Armitage had thought of Kylo Ren as rather beautiful to watch. He thought of Mustafar and of how he and Pryde had been privy to the slaughter of Mustafarian natives and colonists. Pryde had remarked on Ren’s savage beauty. Armitage recalled conflicted emotions rising within him at the observation.

Ultimately, he realized, he had thought Kylo Ren to be horrifically beautiful. He was a demon to be feared, yet there had also been beauty in how ruthless he was when the mood had struck him. He’d admired the way in which Ren’s body moved and how he cut into his enemy as if they were hardly a threat. Nothing could touch him. Nothing could kill him. Armitage had envied that strength. He’d envied the invincibility that Kylo Ren represented. It had made him hate the man all the more.

Now, as he stepped toward the window to watch Ben Solo, he found those feelings had not gone away.

Even from where he stood at the window, he could make out the figure of Ben training opposite the serpentine lake. His lightsaber was starkly contrasted to the muted earth tones of nature surrounding him. The blue was vibrant and full of life as well as more steady than the previous lightsaber that belonged to Ben. He held it as if it were an extension of his very being. It effortlessly spun and rotated with his wrist and arm. Ben moved it with a skill that Armitage could only lust after. Even from far away, it was easy to see how his muscles flexed and adapted to the stylized, yet still brutal and impulsive, movements.

The decision to go outside was a rather impulsive one. Armitage hadn’t even bothered to retrieve his jacket or proper shoes to tread on the wet grass or the wet path toward the lake. A cigarette was his only companion on the walk toward Ben. The closer he tred, the easier it was to make out what exactly the Force-user was doing. His body became more outlined and bold as the distance between them was closed. Armitage was able to make out the length of Ben’s hair and how it barely touched the top vertebrae of his spine. His shoulder and arms had always been muscular but now Armitage was aware of how the years of training and fighting in an endless war had benefitted Ben’s body. It rather suited him. Armitage could not imagine Ben looking any other way. He regarded him from where he stood, seven feet away, and exhaled the stream of smoke into the misty morning air.

Ben had finished an offensive motion and savagely twirled his body, the saber above his head, and landed the glowing blade onto the grass facing Armitage. Through matted, sweaty strands of hair stuck against his forehead, Ben looked up at him with surprise. Armitage flicked ashes to the ground in response and smirked down at him. The cigarette dangled loosely between his middle and index fingers, sending its fumes into the air. Ben rose to his feet and moved his hair out of his face. His chest was heaving from the effort of the previous half-hour. His pale complexion was marked by splotches of red across his cheeks and sternum. The splotches disappeared into his undershirt. Armitage’s eyes only dared stop at the low neckline before moving back up to Ben’s face.

“Everything okay?” Ben asked through breaths. He disengaged his lightsaber and held it between dangled fingers.

Armitage took a small drag off the cigarette and tapped his thumb against it to rid it of ash. “Everything is fine,” he confirmed.

Ben rest one hand on his hip then gave a small twist, knitting his brows together in concentration then easing his expression at the dull popping sound. His shoulders rolled back as well. Armitage’s expression soured at the sound. It was rather foul. He had a stomach for violence, yes, but it was the mundane things such as the popping of bones that rather irked him.

“What’s going on?” Ben questioned further.

Armitage’s shoulders gave an uncaring shrug and he said, “I couldn’t concentrate on my reading.”

There came the crooked smile again. Ben regarded the ground and rested both hands against his hips. His breathing returned to a regular rhythm. At the same time as Ben reestablished eye-contact with him, Armitage dropped the cigarette and pressed it into the dirt under the ball of his foot. “Your reading?” Ben questioned. It was quite clear that he didn’t believe a word of the excuse. Not that Armitage cared. He wasn’t a child; he was an adult man. As was Ben, for that matter.

Armitage’s fingers rubbed at his neck and he gave another uncaring, confirming nod. Still, Ben looked skeptical of the answer. The stand-off was brief. Armitage nodded toward the lightsaber and asked, “What were you doing? How does it help you?”

“Oh. Just some offensive motions.” Ben lifted the saber and tossed it up and down into his palm.

“Are you planning on attacking anyone presently?”

His lips quirked upward in reflection of Ben’s. The darker haired man shook his head and answered, “Not planning on it. Even when you beat me at Dejarik.”

“I can’t help that you’re shit at the game,” Armitage retorted. Ben leveled a pointed finger at him and chuckled. “Careful. I’m the one with the weapon here.”

“How do you know I don’t have one on me right now?” Armitage challenged, stepping forward a few more steps. He reached his fingers forward to tap the metal of the lightsaber.

Ben’s eyes studied him. “Because there’s no way you could conceal one on your person. You’re in a shirt and trousers. It’d be obvious if you were carrying anything right now. Plus, don’t think you have any weapons the on property besides the ax.”

“That’s a very uneducated statement.” Armitage held up two fingers to pause Ben. “But you’re right.” He’d searched his father’s belongings and found no official weapons; no blasters, no blades. Nothing besides ground tools or eating utensils.

He turned his attention back to the lightsaber and moved his fingers across the ridges, almost caressing the object in Ben’s hand. Ben’s attention moved to the lightsaber as well and Armitage could almost feel the tensing of his arm. Or, perhaps, that was wishful thinking. He tipped his head and silently began to wrap his fingers around it. To his surprise, Ben let him take it in his grasp.

It was heavier than Armitage had thought it would be. Ben made it seem so effortless and light to the touch. He cleared his throat at the weight; a reaction which drew a thoughtful and rather entertained sound from Ben’s mouth. His fingers lightly tapped at the back of Armitage’s hand as if to give him a bit of support. The general waved his hand and scolded, saying, “I can hold it just fine.” Ben lifted his hand in surrender and watched with the eye of a tutor as Armitage examined the hilt. He flexed and relaxed his fingers over it as if molding his own hand to the shape of it.

“It belonged to my grandfather. Then my uncle,” Ben informed as he watched Armitage examine it.

Armitage regarded the answer with a thoughtful sound and moved his finger over the ridges. “Where do you ignite it?” He queried. His eyes squinted as he felt something close to a switch or, rather, button to activate it. “Is it here--?”

“Armitage, don’t—“ Ben, with panic striking his face, quickly took the blade and flipped it. His eyes widened as he looked at Armitage, who was utterly confused. “You would have killed yourself. _This_ side—“ He gestured to the end facing away from Armitage. “—is where the blade comes out.” In anticipation, he stepped to Armitage’s side. Good thing, too, because only a second later Armitage ignited the lightsaber.

He stepped backward in surprise. His eyes widened at the feeling the powered-up blade wielded by himself. The blue reflected off his hand and his arm. He held it upright and examined the vibrating light up close. Armitage marveled at the thrill shooting through his system. He realized, upon looking at Ben, that he was smiling. Ben reflected the look and nodded his head. “Give it a try.”

Truthfully, he didn’t know where to begin. Hesitantly, he looked at Ben as if for guidance or advice. Ben shook his head and gestured with his head for Armitage to try. _Load of help you are,_ he thought as he tilted the saber to and fro in his hand. He felt foolish as he made half-hearted strikes with it, feeling rather self-conscious in front of Ben. Armitage frowned and mentally shook off the worry of judgement. If anything, this was his wheelhouse. He’d been trained as a soldier and now was his time to show it off. He had hardly gotten the chance to while serving as a general; it was more practical for him to stay onboard his ship and devise strategy than join Ren in battle.

Armitage inhaled and focused on the weight of the hilt in his hand. He recalled being trained with a staff when he was younger at the Academy. He stood straight at attention then engaged in an offensive strike. It was more confident than his previous strikes. He imagined himself back in the Academy training rooms, facing children who were about his age. He isolated the muscles in his core and arm as he struck the air and turned the lightsaber in his hand similarly as he had done with a staff. His skills were a tad rusty but he was impressed at the muscle memory he still retained.

It was after a few strikes and offensive combinations that his shoulder started to feel worn and sore. As Armitage disengaged the saber, he found he was matted in a minor sweat. His shirt was dampened by it and his body was flush from the effort. He worked to control his breathing and looked at Ben to hand the lightsaber back.

Ben’s lips were parted in subdued surprise and intrigue. His arms hung loosely by his sides. He seemed impressed. His lips were curled upward into a one-sided, closed-mouth grin. It pleased Armitage greatly for Ben to give him such a look. The pride he felt at the approval filled his body. Despite the chill of the air, he felt rather warm.

He offered the lightsaber to Ben. The pride was etched across his face. “There you are,” Armitage finally said. “Hope I didn’t show you up _too_ badly. Don’t want to crush that ego of yours.”

Ben’s tongue poked at the inside of his cheek and he lowered his eyes as he chuckled and nodded. His lips pressed together as he took hold of the saber, his fingertips covering Armitage’s. Their eyes locked and, for mere seconds, Armitage recognized the look in Ben’s eyes. He was feeling the same way.

A quick assessment of his mind showed that no, Ben was not prodding around in this thoughts. This was the one case where Armitage wished that he did. It would be easier if he did.

Ben took the saber and placed it in the holster strapped to his leg. His hand rubbed at his goatee and his mustache. His eyes gleamed as he said, “You said I needed a shave, last night.”

Fair brows lifted as Armitage digested the statement. He had, in fact, said that. He’d said a lot of things that he remembered. After inwardly hesitating over bringing up last night, he realized it was pointless in avoiding it; Ben clearly reciprocated whatever it was they had started. If he hadn’t, the morning would have been more awkward and they would have kept their distance. It would have been like months previous when Armitage had locked himself in his study for hours and days at a time; avoiding Ben as if he were a plague. Now he felt the complete opposite. They had fallen into routine with one another, opened up to one another in ways neither man could have ever imagined. Armitage had bared his soul and what had haunted him for his entire thirty-six years of living. Ben, too, had been open and honest with him from the beginning of his time at the estate. He’d proven himself time and time again. There didn’t seem to be a reason to question him now.

“Did I?” Armitage’s arms went behind his back. He stood at attention in attempt to capture the persona of the man he had been a year prior. “I vaguely recall making such a comment. It’s true; sober or not. You are looking rather roguish. Quite scruffy.”

Ben’s brow raised at the word choice. “Who’s scruffy?”

Armitage feigned disdain and tipped Ben’s chin up with his index and middle fingers. He was pleased to see Ben caught off-guard by the gesture. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected it from himself either. But the hint of approval in Ben’s face spurred him on. Ben swiftly wet his lips and continued, “You said you were going to return the favor.”

“Did I?” Armitage asked again. He quite liked the way Ben was looking at him. He stepped forward and trailed his fingers across the man’s goatee and up his jaw. Slowly, he encouraged Ben’s head to return to resting level. His hand dropped to his side and he said, “Shall we be off, then? Before I decide to rescind my offer.”

He turned on his heel and began to walk back; slowly at first so Ben could catch up with him in only a stride. They glanced at one another, sharing looks that could only be construed as mischievous. It was clear there was an understanding between them. Armitage wondered to himself who would be the first one to break.

“Don’t forget your shoes,” he instructed as he reached the doorway. His lips curled up in a satisfied sneer as Ben regarded his feet and grumbled as Armitage disappeared inside, walking rather quickly with a lightness he had never felt before.

* * *

He hadn’t stepped inside any of the guest rooms since he had arrived. Armitage had nearly forgotten what the rooms looked like. They, too, were sparsely decorated thanks to Maratelle, most likely. The bed was a size smaller than Armitage’s but it was still large enough to at least fit a fully-grown human. Perhaps two.

Armitage had retrieved a chair from his study, much as Ben had nearly a month ago. He wasn’t cutting his hair, no, but he was using a straight razor to shave his face. It would work better if Ben was sitting; less chance of accidentally causing grievous injury or death. He set the chair in the middle of the room and gestured for Ben to sit as he went into the man’s private bath to prepare. He wet the small pot of cream and began to mix it together to create a shaving lather. Armitage made a thoughtful noise and wet his razor along with a small cloth. He found two towels—one meant for bathing and the other for merely cleaning hands—and brought them to his makeshift station. Ben was watching him from behind the chair where he stood contrary to Armitage’s silent direction.

“Have you ever shaved anyone besides yourself?” He asked skeptically. Armitage directed a displeased look at Ben and tapped the seat with the razor. “Sit,” he directed.

Ben held his hands up and took a seat obediently. He folded his arms across his chest, clearing his throat expectantly at the former general. Armitage’s face did not change as he placed the larger of the two towels around Ben’s neck and chest. He dampened his face with the smaller cloth then mixed the lather to his liking before applying it to his face. Ben’s nose scrunched but he kept very still. His eyes studied Armitage as he deftly spread the lather. His throat cleared as he closed his eyes and settled into the chair.

“Refrain from making that noise,” Armitage said in a concentrated voice. He ensured he spread the appropriate amount then set it down. He wet the razor on the smaller cloth and slowly tilted Ben’s head to the side. “Don’t move,” he murmured. “Don’t speak, either.”

He waited until Ben confirmed with a guttural sound before he pressed the razor against the man’s skin. Slowly the razor glided over Ben’s cheek. Armitage kept the strokes even and close in order to remove every hair possible. He liked a close shave, himself. He imagined Ben would prefer the same. He recalled how smooth Ben’s face had been when he had first arrived; it had been like he always kept it whilst in the First Order. Armitage had always marveled at how young Ben looked when he had taken off his mask. He had always been rather pretty with his young face and the manner in which his hair fell to the middle of his neck. Armitage hadn’t quite believed that Ben was only five years younger than himself; he’d imagined that he was much younger. He did not wear the strain of his years lived as Armitage did. Ben had also retained better habits than Armitage had; a necessity for a Force-user, he supposed. Somehow, it seemed Ben had always managed to recuperate on his sleep while Armitage could only rest for a few spare hours at a time. He nourished himself well while Armitage thrived on caf, tea, and cigarettes with only the blandest food to fill his stomach.

His hand had paused as he reflected but it was for mere seconds. Armitage inspected his work then cleaned off the razor before going back with another smooth, measured glide. His eyes lifted to see how Ben was doing. The man’s eyes were open albeit full of relaxation and unfixed focus into empty space. Armitage went back to his work and moved the razor closer to Ben’s chin on the next shave. His fingers gently encouraged the man’s head to tip back as he worked from his throat up to his chin. It wasn’t easy to move the sharp metal over the thin skin of the chin but Armitage’s hand was practiced; he was confident in his ability to not nick the skin. The trick was to move slowly and for the subject not to move.

“You’re good at this,” Ben said monotonously once Armitage had paused to clean the lather off the blade.

“I’ve been doing it long enough,” the former general pointed out, wiping a bit of white lather from his hand. “Thirty-six years, if you recall.”

“Shaving someone else is different.” Ben turned his head toward Armitage. Three-quarters of his face was covered in white lather.

Armitage acknowledged the question and switched his stance. He opted to stand behind Ben in order to get at his mustache. “There were times,” he began with some difficulty, “where my father’s friends thought it wise to test my manhood."

He felt Ben tense under his hand. Armitage paused and scolded, “You’ll only make me cut you. Relax.” He scraped the razor delicately at Ben’s upper lip. He tilted his head to get a better look. “It would be simple things; fetching them drinks, cleaning their weapons. Not that they used them. They were the sort to carry them around for decoration. They would have me clean their boots. Demeaning tasks to prove my worth. It was mostly to embarrass my father.” Armitage stepped to Ben’s left side and knelt on one knee, tilting the Force-user’s head with his fingers again as he worked on his other cheek.

Ben hummed in response. “So they’d have you shave their faces.”

“When they thought they could hold one over on my father, yes,” Armitage said, finishing a stroke. He cleaned the razor and positioned it near Ben’s Adam’s Apple. His lips curled upward. “Until one of them received a rather sizable cut on his throat. He accused me of being clumsy. He nearly shattered my cheekbone when he was out of the medical unit.”

He sat back on his haunches and cleaned the razor again. “It could have been deeper. Much deeper. If I desired to, I could have cut his carotid artery. External _and_ internal.”

Armitage lifted his eyes to meet Ben’s curious expression. “Do you know how long it takes a human being to bleed to death once their carotid artery is severed?”

Ben did not respond.

“Twenty-seconds to one minute,” Armitage replied. He carefully watched Ben for his reaction. "Perhaps three or four if the person is determined enough."

Ben was the one to break eye contact, opting to stare at the opposite wall. Though his face did not react, Armitage noticed the curling of his fingers on the tops of his knees. An exhale was released through his nose and how the muscles in his legs seemed to tighten.

It was a fascinating reaction to such a statement. Armitage marveled silently at Ben’s actions, examining him as if he were viewing him in a lab. He stood and rest his free hand at the base of Ben’s throat while he positioned the razor near the carotid artery. _J_ _ust testing a hypothesis_.

He felt Ben’s body go rigid under his hand. It was a powerful feeling. It sent a shudder down his own spine much as it had when he had been a boy.

Armitage guided his hand smoothly over the area, careful not to nick even the delicate top layer of skin. He knew his way around anatomy; he knew where the skin was thinnest. He knew the exact amount of pressure to avoid or pursue.

His bare fingers held the unshaven half of Ben’s face as he finished his work. Armitage cleaned the blade and stepped around to view it from every angle. Then he pat away the excess lather from Ben’s skin and gently rubbed to clean his face and neck. There didn’t seem to be a trace of hair left. He closed the razor and placed it on the floor where the hand towel and lather was.

“Go look.”

Ben’s eyes had closed while Armitage had completed the shave. They slowly opened at the order and fixated on Armitage before he seemed to realize what the former general was telling him to do. Ben rose from the chair and touched his face before going into the bathroom to inspect the work. Armitage set about picking up the items he used and followed Ben in nearly a minute later. He began to wash the lather from the small container and cleaned the brush, not minding how Ben examined himself in the mirror.

“So?” He finally asked, setting the shaving implements aside and looking at Ben.

“—Not bad.” Ben seemed to marvel at the closeness of the shave. His fingers traced across the paths Armitage’s razor had moved. His eyes narrowed as he inspected his reflection closer. “Not even a little cut or raw spot.”

Armitage was triumphant. His chest swelled with pride. “I’m afraid I’m not any good with hair cutting. You’ll have to do that yourself.”

Ben grunted in response as his eyes moved to his hair. He faced Armitage with his entire body. “Thank you.”

“Only returning the favor, Ben,” Armitage replied. “It’s what friends do, apparently.”

“Friends,” Ben echoed. “Yeah.”

There they were, again, in the same situation as the night before; albeit with significantly less alcohol running through both their systems. Armitage’s back pressed against the wall and frame of the door while his hands rested against his lower back. It wasn’t that he was taking a more submissive stance, per se, but playing coy had its benefits. He’d done so many times in the past to twist situations to his benefit. He had never, however, played coy in such an intimate and sensual context as this.

Ben was also playing coy and that Armitage knew for a face. He wondered if the hesitation was an aspect of the game the darker haired man was playing. His green eyes intently watched Ben. He anticipated any and all potential outcomes. This situation had a ninety-nine percent chance of success. However, there was always that one percent where it did not turn out how he expected.

It was as if he could see the percentages rising as Ben moved. _Ten percent, twenty percent, twenty-five percent._

It all flashed across his eyes as Ben began to angle himself closer. The tops of their toes almost met; Ben’s bare ones against Armitage’s covered ones. The general lifted his chin and stared expectantly at Ben. His brow twitched as they stared at one another and a silent battle of wills began; daring the other to make the first move. He could not help the smirk that graced his lips as he marked the hesitation on Ben’s face. That hesitation was washed away the minute Armitage thought he had won.

“Master Armitage!”

Their heads sharply turned toward the main bedroom at the muffled mechanical sound from behind the door. X-3’s voice cut through the thick silence. Armitage looked at Ben and placed his hand on his triceps, wrapping his fingers around it to give a persuasive squeeze. Ben’s eyes darted from the source of the voice back at Armitage. His hand began to raise to touch the same place on the other man’s arm.

There it came again: “Master Armitage!”

Armitage was noticeably furious while Ben began to weakly laugh and duck his head, shaking it. Both their respective hands dropped down and the men began to fidget where they stood. Ben’s head nodded toward the door while Armitage slipped into the bedroom to make his way to the door.

He could not hide how cross he was feeling even if he wanted to. “What is it, X-3?”

The droid whirred, “Sir, there’s flooding at the lake.”

“—Is that all you bothered me for?” The fury was beginning to churn inside. Armitage swore he could hear Ben stifling a laugh through a snort in the distance.

“No, sir. One of the LEP units was outside on the grounds. It was struck by lightning, sir, and I’m afraid its parts will not be salvageable.”

Ben was at Armitage’s side as X-3 finished speaking. “I’ll see what’s going on.” He looked at Armitage. “I’m better at fixing broken parts than you are.”

Armitage sneered. “See what you can salvage. If you cannot then inform me at once. I’ll figure out some solution.”

“Yes, _general_ ,” Ben replied. The cocky expression on his face as he left the room did not enrage Armitage. Rather, it excited him.

_Damn him._

* * *

Armitage had opted not to read his father’s papers that afternoon. Instead, he picked up the book on The Galactic Empire that he hadn’t read for months. He thumbed through the pages to catch sight of where he had left off. He couldn’t quite recall. Finally, he found the earmarked page and scanned the first paragraph of the page. Ah, yes, here it was; the aftermath of the Battle of Endor.

He was a slow reader but it was only due to his intention of retaining as much information as possible. Armitage absorbed the information in books like a sponge in water. Today he was rather engrossed in the book and did not pause even to make himself a cup of tea. The hours seemed to fly by and the illuminators slowly turned themselves on when the sun officially went down. The lightning storm from before had quelled and only dull rolls of thunder filled the ambient air. Armitage had grown rather used to all aspects of Arkanisian weather. He wondered if he would even be able to sleep peacefully without it. More often than not, thunder and lightning storms lulled him to sleep. It was hard to imagine a time where he hadn’t fallen asleep to these reliable weather patterns.

He had reached the Battle of Jakku when a new presence disturbed him. Thinking it was X-3, Armitage was prepared to be cross as he lifted his head from the pages. It was Ben standing there then promptly sitting down at the opposite end of the couch where Armitage was reclining.

Keeping his index finger in the pages to mark it, Armitage closed the book. “Finally finished, did you?”

“Yeah. A lot of the droid was fried. Took me a while to find the right pieces. I think I’ll walk into town later this week and find the proper pieces.”

One of Ben’s bare feet rest on the soft plush of the couch, leaving the other to rest on the ground proper. Armitage would have scolded him if he had not been reclining as if he were on a bed. He moved his feet to make room for Ben, allotting enough space for the two of them to rest comfortably.

“What are you reading?” Ben asked.

Armitage turned the cover so Ben could see it. “Oh,” Ben replied, looking rather exasperated with the subject. “Of course you’d be reading that again.”

“It’s to keep my mind sharp,” Armitage shot back. “Are you reading anything better?”

“I could if you had anything worth reading.” Ben’s arms folded over his chest and bounced his raised knee against the back of the couch. It drew Armitage’s ire the more it touched the couch. He cleared his throat and went back to his reading. Graciously, Ben gave him the silence he needed to concentrate on the words in front of him.

Somewhere in the midst of his reading, Armitage noticed Ben rising and retreating toward one of the shelves. He peeked over the top of his book to see him pulling something off the fourth shelf then returning to sit opposite Armitage, leaning the back of the book against his raised thigh and opening to the first page.

“No Dejarik tonight?” He asked. Ben gave an indifferent shrug and opened his book. Armitage squinted in order to get a better look at the title but could not see beyond Ben’s thigh. “What are you reading?” He questioned again.

Ben leaned his wrist to the left to show the cover to Armitage: _Calligraphy: An Exploration_.

Why his father even had this book was beyond him. Then again, it must have been Maratelle. Armitage hummed dismissively and returned his attention to his book, though he was interrupted immediately by Ben’s foot pressing against his shin. Again, he closed his own book over his finger. “What was that for?”

“Sorry you’re not cultured,” Ben shot back. For a second, Armitage thought he sounded serious. If it hadn’t been for the smirk on Ben’s face, he would have believed him.

“You’re unbelievable.” Armitage shifted to lean on his side and returned his attention to his book.

The illuminators buzzed with ambience as the two men were engrossed in their respective readings. It was a little before midnight that Armitage finished and closed his book. Ben’s eyes lifted at the movement. “Finished?”

Armitage nodded. He rolled his head to the right then the left, acknowledging the pops in his neck with a gentle grunt. “I’m off.” He rose and returned the book to the shelf. Ben’s book was still open against his thigh but his attention was on the other man as he moved about. Armitage’s hands slid into his trouser pockets as he stood before Ben. It was then he began to feel rather sheepish and, if he were being hard on himself, rather desperate. Where on earth that feeling had come from he had no clue.

“There’s me,” he said. He felt like a child wanting to be acknowledged.

Instead of ridiculing him, Ben smiled. It was easier to see how the smile lines became visible on his cheeks. Armitage then noticed how small lines appeared at the outer corners of Ben’s eyes. It was the only sign that contradicted his relative youth.

“There’s you,” Ben responded. He sounded much more relaxed as if he had been sleeping and just been roused from a pleasant dream.

Armitage’s eyes found his feet then raised to Ben’s face. He gave a rather awkward nod and muttered, “Good night, Ben.”

“Good night, Armitage. Thanks for earlier.”

Armitage's back molars gripped the inside of his cheek as he gave Ben another nod before leaving him in the warm glow of the library. Armitage left the room with a smile pasted across his face and a feeling of warmth accompanying him into the embrace of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter more than makes up for where this left off. Promise.
> 
> Come yell at me in the comments or on tumblr:
> 
> sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	12. Chapter 12

After another day of intense storms, something incredible happened. The skies cleared and the sun revealed itself. For the first time in nearly seven months, the sun came out over Arkanis.

It was jarring for Armitage to wake to sunlight streaming over his body. For a brief moment he wondered if something was dangerously wrong with the alignment of the planets and moons. Pulled out of sleep, his first thought was to prepare for the worst. But as his eyes settled over the sight, he found himself rather excited by the light spreading across his skin. He maneuvered out of bed to stand by his long window and witness how the earth truly came to life with the blessing of the sun’s rays. The grass reflected the beams and glowed with such vibrancy as he didn’t think he’d ever seen before. Even the stones on the walls of the estate seemed to take on a life of their own, despite their age and how the battering of rainstorms had aged the rock. They seemed new in the light; aged, yes, but somehow brand new as if Armitage were seeing the details for the first time.

He bathed and shaved his face before he dressed for the day. Not to go work by the woods but, rather, in anticipation of heading outside to enjoy the rare sunshine. For a man who had lived his life predominantly on Star Destroyers without care, the idea of experiencing a sunny Arkanisian day thrilled him. He could hardly recall a day, as a child, when he had experienced the sun on his skin in such a natural manner. Quick trips planet-side for meetings or negotiations did not count. The day DH-1460 had informed him of the Order’s downfall did not count, either.

The former general did not think of Ben for a moment. His mind was forming a rapid routine for the day; take a book or two from the library as well as a container of water and perhaps a piece of fruit or two. Go down lakeside and spend the sunny day reading and altogether absorbing some much needed Vitamin D. He was curious as to the benefit the direct sunlight would give to his mind. Being a learned man, he’d read as much as he could to the reasons and benefits of nature on the human body. All those years on Star Destroyers truly had not done his mind much good. Ben had once commented “No wonder you’re so miserable” when Armitage had told him of the lack of sunlight on Arkanis. He’d been so shocked at the bluntness of the statement but, the more he thought of it, the more he realized Ben was right. A day like today could significantly improve his mood as well as Ben’s. That is, if the other man chose to accompany him outside.

He set about his idealized routine and went to the library to pick up a couple of books. Armitage noticed the _Calligraphy_ book on the sofa where he had left Ben reading it the previous evening. They’d gotten into an interesting discussion where Ben had educated him on the history and significance of calligraphy in various cultures across the galaxy. He’d rambled on for nearly an hour on how the Jedi from thousands of years prior had taken pride in the art and made sure it pass it down for generations until, ultimately, data pads and other technology made the practice nearly obsolete. Ben had discovered the art as a teenager and adopted a love of practicing it for hours on end when he hadn’t been training with his uncle. To tell the truth, Armitage had been fascinated by how passionately Ben spoke about calligraphy. He hadn’t arrived with a set; a fact he rather lamented.

Armitage stepped into the sun and it was as if he was hit with the blaster bolt all over again. The warmth from a source other than manmade fire was a shock. That wasn’t to say, however, that he thought to escape it. Rather, Armitage took a moment to embrace and admire the warmth from the sun then began his trek. Once he reached the serpentine lake, he paused a moment to admire it. It was rather an impressive feat. It added to the property and removed the dullness of more grass and flat earth. He observed the sparkling of the water as the light from the sun hit the surface. Squinting though the brightness, Armitage was able to see the small fish moving about through the water. His father must have introduced some species so Maratelle could have something to watch up close. Then again, he supposed, she never had. He didn’t quite remember Maratelle taking walks down this way. For all his memories of her at the estate, she was stalking the halls and watching Armitage with an upturned nose and a look of dislike on her face. Perhaps she had been rather beautiful. Any holographic images or recordings of her seemed to suggest that she was, indeed, a beautiful woman. But regardless of the state Maratelle had presented herself, Armitage had always found something about her to be rather ugly. Perhaps the tainted image he had as a child corrupted any notion that she was a beautiful woman.

He dismissed the notion of his stepmother as he observed the tail of a fish bat the surface, creating ripples in the water as more fish swarmed the spot. He stepped forward to the side to see the creatures fighting over what he presumed to be food. He couldn’t quite see it but it was the best guess he could come up with. No matter; they all seemed to come to life with the light. Armitage continued on his way toward the South Woods and stepped through the border of trees into the forest.

The forest, typically rather dark and ghoulish on any other day, was rebirthed with this sunny blessing. As Armitage stepped through the woods, he saw the life that inhabited the woods with more clarity than he had ever before. Four-legged, pale brown creatures ran from sight while red birds seemed to dart from tree-to-tree as well as call to one another with beautiful songs. Life was reemerging from the despair. Light had returned.

His body felt reinvigorated with every step he took. His eyes were watching the skies for signs of these animals while his brain raced to think of the species that inhabited this specific area. He could find no answer but he did find a desire to learn what inhabited his property. From the skies, Armitage’s attention turned back to the land surrounding him and to the animals, big and small, that moved just fast enough for him to miss. A few species of mammals came to mind—cervus and canis, to name a genus or two. Armitage recalled reading about them in one of his books. He would have to reacquaint himself when he returned inside for the day.

His feet carried him to the lakeside and to the fallen tree trunk that was still not worn down by the elements. Armitage marveled at the fact it still existed despite all of the elements wearing it down. He reached his hand to touch the wood. He was looking for any signs of dampness or rot that would inhibit his ability to sit on it. There was some dampness from the previous day’s rain but the warmth of the sun was rapidly drying the wood. Perhaps he could alternate sitting on both the trunk and the grass. Armitage knelt to inspect the grass. Dry, but still soft. Excellent.

Armitage sat on the trunk and propped one foot atop it. The other foot rest comfortably on the ground. He opened the calligraphy book and began on the first page. His elbow remained propped on top of his knee as a support for his arm. He told himself he would not rush through this book. It was a new topic for him to explore. Ben had piqued his interest with his passionate ramblings on the art. Armitage was keen to explore why Ben was so fascinated. He had told Ben, once, that reading was only good for learning. He whole-heartedly believed that there was no benefit to reading unless one learned something from the material. Armitage was reading this in order to benefit his mind and, perhaps his own skill. Calligraphy could be another way for him to pass his time. It could be made a modern art instead of an ancient practice. It had the capacity to be useful; it had the capacity to impress others.

His lips curled upward as he thought of the surprise on Ben’s face when Armitage inevitably presented him with this new skill. He could almost picture the genuine surprise and pleasure on the man’s face. It was easy to see every muscle in his face brightening with a sort of heart-warming emotion at the thought that Armitage had taken interest in one of _his_ interests; that this was something they could both agree and bond over.

It was an enticing thought, a prideful one. Armitage was taking pride and pleasure in the very **_idea_** of making Ben feel special. That is how he would feel, he hypothesized; special. It’s how Armitage suspect he himself would feel if Ben took active interest in learning about what he liked.

Warmth spread through his body as the former general experienced something he’d never experienced before. It was something he couldn’t quite define. Was it joy? Maybe but that wasn’t the correct terminology for it. It wasn’t joy entirely. He took stock of this feeling and tried to give it definition. Warmth, yes, as well as joy. His chest was lighter; lighter even than it had already been over the past weeks and couple of months. Armitage looked out over the expanding lake. He observed the way the light danced off the very surface of the water as if it were merely skimming across the reflective mirror. It was as if it were teasing it but never toying it with. There was an understanding between the light and the water; a delicate balance.

Thoughts returned to the book in his hand and to the previous reader. He gazed upon the words and returned to what he had been reading. Armitage’s eyes read the same few sentences over and over again until he understood what the text was telling him. The history of the writing form was detailed to him from the beginning of written word itself. Armitage’s eyes digested the timeline of dates as well as supplementary information that accompanied the evolution of the art. The pictures engulfed him in a whole new world. He considered it a refuge that only books were ever able to provide. He did not comprehend how much time was passing. The sounds of nature thriving around him were merely ambient while a soft narration began, generated by his own mind.

His stomach churned and clued him into his hunger. Armitage blinked back to the present, taking him out of his pleasant stupor, and earmarked the page he was on. He reached where he had set the fruit and took one of them. His fingers glided over the red skin of it and he brought it to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the rich flesh of the food. The juice immediately rushed into his mouth and created a tangy yet sweet sensation on his taste buds. Armitage savored it and stared over the lake once again. His mind went pleasantly blank as he meditated on the movement of the water. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of the fruit and kept hold on it while he ate. The fruit was sweet on his tongue. He wondered if it had ever tasted so sweet before. Perhaps it was the right season for it. It tasted ripe but not _too_ ripe. Rather, it tasted just right.

Armitage’s teeth cut into the fruit like a knife into tender meat. His fingers turned the fruit as he ate his way through it. Soon enough, only his thumb and index finger gripped it at opposite ends. Within the next five minutes, the fruit was finished. Only a core rest between his fingers. He examined it as if examining a skeleton before he tossed it toward the woods. When he turned his body toward the trees, he saw Ben emerging from the greenery.

Ben wore black trousers and a white shirt akin to the one he’d worn on the day of his arrival. It wasn’t as formal as the one Armitage was currently wearing but he didn’t quite mind it. It fit over his chest quite well and looked to be a soft material. He wasn’t wearing the jacket he’d arrived in. It was much too warm for that. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled just above his forearms. From a distance Armitage could just make out the movement of Ben’s eyes from the water to him. The darker haired man walked over and stood right behind the trunk where Armitage sat.

“Hey,” Ben greeted.

Armitage lightly rubbed his fingers on his trousers and nodded in greeting. “Made it outside, have you?” He squinted from the brightness of the sun.

“Almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Goddamn beautiful out.” Ben turned his head up toward the sun and basked momentarily in the beaming light.

Armitage watched him with subdued admiration. “Glad you made it outside. I’ve been here for some time.”

“A couple of hours.”

His brows raised in surprise. “Has it been that long?”

Ben nodded in response. He looked down at Armitage and noticed the book. His full lips lifted into a smile. “You’re reading it.” His fingers extended toward the book.

Green eyes quickly noticed what Ben was pointing to. Armitage felt rather proud of the acknowledgement. “Yes, I am.” He held the book within his lap and traced his fingers over the cover.

Ben sat beside him and nodded. His hair, still long, lightly brushed over his shoulders. “Should I be expecting a calligraphy set to show up?”

“Easy,” Armitage began. “Just because I am showing interest by reading doesn’t mean I’m going to become an artist overnight. I’m not quite that type.”

“I know that. You’re more practical.”

Ben leaned his hands on the trunk and again lifted his head to the sky. Armitage couldn’t get over the smile on Ben’s face. He copied how Ben’s hands rest and pressed into the soft wood of the tree trunk. He wondered how long it would take for the pale pigment to turn to tan or to brown. Then he focused on the potential energy held within Ben’s hands; how they had the absolute power to crush into the tree and destroy the very wood underneath where they both sat. Yet he didn’t. Ben’s strong hands were impossibly soft and delicate as his weight pressed against the weakening wood.

Brown eyes met Armitage’s green as he expected an answer. Armitage knew he expected an answer. He was more than ready to give him one. His head nodded and he found he rolled up his sleeves in a mirror of how Ben’s sleeves were rolled. “That I am,” Armitage stated. “More academically minded than artistically.” He considered his words. “Then again, what I do is an art in and of itself.”

“Really? Art?” Ben’s dark brows raised in disbelief. “You call constructing a new Death Star art?”

“She was my greatest creation.” Armitage noted the incredulous tone of voice. “I designed her. I may have had assistance but she was my creation. I thought her to life. My designs were her conception and her birth.” He looked over the water again. “She could have been stronger. I could have made her stronger.”

He sounded almost wistful, remorseful. In many ways he was. He wondered what other roads, other decisions, he could have made and where they would have brought him. If Starkiller hadn’t had certain weaknesses in the thermal oscillator, then perhaps it would have been more difficult for the Resistance to destroy it. If he’d increased security on the base, maybe the scavenger and her Resistance friends wouldn’t have wrecked it.

“You can’t dwell on the past.”

Armitage’s head lolled to look at Ben’s. “If you say I was thinking too loudly, I swear by the Maker or by whichever damned god apparently exists—“

“I didn’t have to look into your mind, Armitage. Your face said enough.” Ben pointed out verbally. His tongue swiped over his lips and he tapped his right heel against the ground. Armitage didn’t know which to look at first.

He elected, instead, to keep looking at Ben’s face. “I’ve been working on that. You can’t say I haven’t been.”

Ben gave him that with a half-smile and a low, introspective hum that rumbled in his chest. Armitage matched the smile. The two men looked at the lake again and simply let the ambience of nature fill the lapse in conversation. It didn’t take too long for Armitage to realize the tips of his fingers were evenly met with the tips of Ben’s. He angled his head to take personal notice of it before returning his gaze out over the lake. He simply became more conscious and aware of how his skin was pressed against Ben’s. It was chaste and light, yes, but his entire body soon became aware of it. It pleased him.

Much about Ben had pleased him lately. These new developments in their friendship, the teasing, the light flirting all sent his emotions in a flurry. It was something he’d never cared to acknowledge or dwell on in his thirty-six years of living. He hadn’t had time to focus on it. Perhaps a couple of times he’d wondered about the touch of another man but that had been quite low on his list of priorities. If he’d ever needed release, he had his hand. It had satisfied him then. Now? Armitage didn’t think he could satisfy himself emotionally. It had all been easier when he’d had a goal to focus on and fight toward. He wasn’t fighting for anything now. Life was too mundane and the war was over. For all he knew, he would never fight in a war again. There was nothing else to distract him from the aspects of life that made Armitage Hux utterly human. Being human meant feeling desires he’d always learned were weak. It meant confronting them and even, bit-by-bit, learning to accept them as they came and went. It meant overcoming fear of the curiosity that reared its head more often than not when he looked at Ben and felt the flurry become an unbearable swirling mess inside his very soul.

The flurry began to whip up when Ben’s fingers broached the stronghold of his fingertips. Armitage felt the long fingers extend to his knuckles. Instead of denying it and not looking, he dared to look and mark the progress. To feel it was one thing; to see it was another.

Eye-contact was reestablished immediately. Both men were looking at one another in a moment of utter vulnerability. This was a jarringly sober moment of intimacy. Whereas before they had the excuse of intoxication for their flirtation or the intimacy of shaving one’s face with a straight-razor, this was an organically generated and intentional point of contact. Armitage swore he saw the brief flush of Ben’s cheeks. Then again, perhaps it was the effect of the sun beating against his skin.

_These excuses needed to stop._

The statement didn’t come from anywhere except his own head. It was Armitage’s own voice that he heard in his head, that he heard say those words. He was tired, if he were honest. He was tired of the games. It wasn’t as exhausting as he thought but there was part of his being that wanted to drop all these pretenses. It hadn’t been happening long, no, but there was a newfound part of him that wanted nothing more than to explore the potential future that sat by his side in this present moment.

Ben was still looking at him, waiting as if he were an animal being confronted by a predator. Armitage could almost detect a hint of fear in Ben’s eyes. It was fleeting but it had existed.

In an agonizingly slow way, Armitage’s fingers moved from under Ben’s to slot in between his. His fingertips even caressed his knuckles. He found them just as soft as he’d marveled over only moments earlier. Again, he was pleased to find he was right about something else concerning Ben Solo.

Ben’s lips parted as his gesture was reciprocated. The shock could be felt through the brief flinching of his fingers when Armitage touched him. It was compounded by Armitage’s sudden words: “I feel it, too.”

Ben's pupils dilated at Armitage’s words. Even Armitage himself was surprised when he heard himself speak. Ben’s tongue again wet his lips. His fingers stroked against the sides of Armitage’s rather bonier ones. Armitage’s fingers had always been rather long and leaner, much like the rest of him. Ben’s fingers, too, were somewhat lean but the man always had a bit more muscle and bulk on him than Armitage ever would. That included in his surprisingly soft fingers.

Neither man knew quite what to say. What words were truly enough or appropriate for this newfound development? It was a fact that neither of them were adequate at communication. Deception and innuendo were the only methods of communication Armitage properly excelled at. They were well beyond either of those two points. There was no point in wasting time on innuendo when he had reciprocated a gesture so vulnerable that he might as well plunge a knife into his chest and present his heart to Ben right away.

Ben’s breathing hitched. “Do you want to go swimming?”

The question was almost absurd until Armitage recalled where they were and how the sun was making him sweat. Neither he nor Ben removed their hands from one another despite the suggestion. “What?”

“Do you want to go swimming?” Ben repeated. This time he stood. His fingers were still loosely laced with Armitage’s.

The former general moved the book off his lap with his free hand but did not otherwise move as Ben did. “There are creatures in there. Fish.”

“That usually is what lives in water.”

“My father,” Armitage said, “used to take myself and other cadets to the peaks of quarries. If he was particularly displeased with any cadet, he would give them one chance to redeem themselves. If they did not, he would push them down. They would either drown or be consumed by whatever lived beneath the water.”

Ben looked rather miffed by the story. “You think I’m going lead you to your death? In a lake?”

“—No.”

“Armitage.” Ben took one step as if to go forward, leaning his weight into the leading foot. Their fingers threatened to unlace. Armitage still did not move from where he sat. His eyes flitted from the lake to Ben and back again, full of uncertainty and hesitation. Rarely, before, had he ever expressed these emotions in such an upfront manner.

He let Ben’s hand go and watched as the man began to walk toward the water. Ben turned to face him and walk backwards. He removed his shirt as he did so and tossed it toward Armitage. It landed a foot-and a half from his feet. Armitage kept his eyes on Ben as his arms outstretched. He noticed the broadness of his chest and how it was not as marked with spots as his face was. It didn’t matter if it was; Armitage still found the sight of Ben rather handsome.

“Can’t sit there and burn all day!”

Armitage shielded his eyes with a hand. “Watch me!” He projected toward Ben, securing a laugh and head shake from the man.

Ben turned toward the water and removed his shoes and his socks, setting those at the lakeside. Then he began to remove his trousers. Armitage could not find it within himself to look away. It wouldn’t have been out of shame; he’d seen the nude bodies of men and women before during training or on worlds were customs were not as civilized as he would have preferred. This was a different situation. Never before had Armitage seen the nude body of someone he’d fancied as much as he fancied Ben.

The proportions of his body made sense. His clothes hadn’t hidden his form at all. The shape of his back and the curvature of his muscles all made sense when clothes were taken out of the equation. It was just as pleasing to witness Ben nude as it was to witness him clothed.

He observed Ben stepping into the water until the level was at his natural waist. His hands scooped into the water, bringing it over his head and through his hair. A noise of satisfaction sounded from his mouth and he shook his head. Then, Ben disappeared underwater. It was for mere seconds but it felt to Armitage as if it were too long. Memories of quarries possessed his brain and he leaned forward with the intention of standing and going to pull Ben from the water. But as soon as the memories had passed, Ben emerged from the water with a jump. Strands of wet hair shook and shot water in every direction. A loud whoop and shout of satisfaction occurred and elicited a laugh from Armitage’s mouth. Ben’s reaction was rather ridiculous, he thought, to the act of being in water. But the more he sat in the bright sunshine and felt the heat beating down on him, the more he understood Ben’s insistence to go into the water.

He felt sweat begin to bead and trickle down his neck and head. He wiped it away with the back of his hand but more sweat began to form. Even unbuttoning his shirt proved to be unhelpful. Armitage crossed one leg over the other and watched from where he sat as Ben seemed to be thriving in the water. He bobbed up and down, occasionally, and even went underwater a few times only to come back up and shake the liquid from his head repeatedly. Ben would swim a couple of feet out then disappear under the water and swim back from where he’d come, standing until the water as at hip-height. Twice or three times, Ben turned his head to check Armitage’s progress. On the fourth or fifth turn, he called out to him: “You’re really not going to come in?”

“I’m fine here!” Armitage replied, lifting his hand in greeting. It was becoming evident, however, that he couldn’t possibly continue to thrive as the afternoon was starting to wear on. His shirt was sticking to his body and even wearing his dark trousers drew the sunlight to his legs. He hadn’t thought that his legs could feel hot just as his upper body could; they were clothed, after all. But the black material attracted the sun and warmed his legs. He felt the impulse to remove his trousers entirely as Ben had. Another thought came to mind. Why not just join him? Ben had been in the water for a little over ten minutes, now, and he was fine. No creatures had come to harm him. Perhaps, like the serpentine lake, there were only small fish creatures that were more frightened of a ripple of water than they were antagonistic.

His curiosity was getting the better of him. Armitage weighed the two options; sit on the log and continue to sweat or join Ben in the refreshing water and cool off his body.

Armitage rose to his feet. First, his fingers nimbly began to unbutton his shirt. He removed the material from his body and let it drop by where Ben’s shirt was. He bent over and removed his shoes and socks. He neatly set those by the trunk and stood still as he felt the grass against his feet. Soft and rejuvenated by weeks and months of constant rain. They had been given new life by the water. It stood that Armitage could experience the same rejuvenation.

He stepped toward the lakeside and stood where the water met the earth. He watched as Ben floated on his back. Even from where he stood, Armitage could see the serenity that graced his face. It gave him the motivation to remove his trousers, fold them, and set them neatly beside Ben’s trousers and shoes. He stepped into the lake so only his toes were covered by the water. Armitage took stock of how it made him feel; cold, at first, and uncertain how the rest of his body would react. He stepped in until the water reached just below his knees. It was cold compared to how warm the rest of his body was. He felt his bare shoulders and chest warming whereas his shins were much cooler. He stood there for a minute as he adjusted to the new feeling. Somehow, the cooling sensation traveled from his legs up his spine. His entire body felt some semblance of coolness. It encouraged him to submerge his thighs then his hips and his belly.

It was when the water reached his stomach that Ben shifted so he was no longer on his back. Rather, he was standing with the water level at his sternum. His eyes widened with surprise when he saw Armitage standing bold and barren in front of him. Armitage’s face, too, was surprised at the actions he had taken.

He suddenly became very aware of how lithe his body was in comparison to Ben’s. Sure the nearly twelve months of work outside had toned up his body rather than deteriorated it. In fact, Armitage found he had more muscle strength than he’d had before arriving. However, his body would never be like Ben’s. The words of his father and all those who had ridiculed him ran through his head: _thin as a slip of paper. Too scrawny. Useless. Skin and bones. What good is a soldier who can’t gain weight?_

Armitage cupped his hands together and looked at the water in his palms. Then, much as Ben had done nearly fifteen minutes ago, he brought the water splashing over his face. He gasped sharply from the sudden coldness on his face and he sputtered when the water got into his mouth. Immediately his hands came to rub water from his face and his eyes, ensuring he could see his surroundings. His hands pushed through his hair, slicking it back. Armitage rest his hands on his head and stared at Ben, who seemed to be gauging the former’s reaction.

Surely, Armitage smiled.

He stepped in more until the water level was at his sternum, much like it was at Ben’s. They were face-to-face now and both smiling at one another.

“You made it,” Ben said.

“I made it,” echoed Armitage.

Ben gestured to the water they were standing in.“Nothing’s gotten you yet.”

“The day is still young.” Armitage brought his right hand into the water again then pushed it through his hair with a satisfied sigh. The water cooled off his body. His eyes gradually closed and he leaned his face to the sun. His hands and arms disappeared into the cool depths of the water. He was suddenly seized by the idea to go under completely. Inhaling deeply, Armitage shot down.

Being entirely underwater was a sensation he had never experienced before. Not like this; not willingly, at least. He couldn’t describe the feeling of his body being supported by the weightless cushion of liquid. His brain could not conjure words fitting enough for the sensation. Armitage’s eyes remained closed and his brain relaxed into the peaceful, soundless environment he’d put himself in. It was relatively soundless but if he had to describe it, he would describe the sensation of a force pushing the liquid around. Sound was more muffled than it was on land.

He released a breath. He could almost hear the bubbles leaving his mouth. Armitage could certainly feel it. In his mind’s eye he saw the very creation of the round bubbles wobbling from his lips and rising to the surface. Wobbling; it was a silly word. Who had decided to give that word meaning? Regardless, it fit the description of how bubbles moved perfectly. But how had he recognized that? How did he know when his eyes were closed?

Armitage ran out of air before he could open his eyes and discover the answer for himself. He forced himself to the surface and swallowed oxygen with a vengeance. His hands rubbed at his eyes and pushed back his hair from his face. He blinked the fluid from his eyes and took in his earthly surroundings again. He noticed Ben. He noticed Ben, too, had water cascading down his head and entire body. He’d been underwater as well. His hands pushed the long mane of black hair from his face and even wrapped around strands to wring out the water. His white teeth flashed. As did Armitage’s.

“You know how to swim, right?” Ben seemed to crouch down into the water, allowing the water to overtake his shoulders and stop at his Adam’s Apple. Armitage nodded his head and mirrored Ben’s posture.

“Where are we swimming to?”

“Not sure. Look at me and find out.” With that, Ben disappeared beneath the surface.

Armitage filled his lungs and joined him. After some hesitation, he opened his eyes. The water wasn’t entirely murky nor was it entirely clear. But he could see Ben only about two feet in front of him. He was smiling behind closed lips, though bubbles warbled from his nose as he exhaled. Armitage wondered just how long Ben could hold his breath.

His eyes narrowed as he fought the impulse to shut his eyes. Ben seemed to be holding his open so easily. It seemed many things came naturally to Ben. Long, black hair danced fluidly around him. It didn’t seem to gravitate anywhere near Ben’s face. Armitage didn’t mind. He found it almost mystical. By comparison, he knew his hair would never move so skillfully with the water as Ben’s did.

Ben’s body rotated and he gestured with his arm for Armitage to follow him as he swam away. Obediently, Armitage followed. In that moment he thought he would follow Ben wherever he went.

They swam a few more feet until Ben’s body angled toward the surface, breaking the tension. Armitage follow and gulped down life-sustaining oxygen. He blinked the burning water from his eyes and floated toward Ben and a little beyond. Ben was treading water where they had ended up and stayed though Armitage drifted about a foot in front of him. His chest rose and fell as he breathed and took in their surroundings. His chin jutted out and up beyond Armitage to the land beyond the water. “Where does that go?”

Armitage turned his head toward where Ben gesture then looked back at him, shaking his head. His hair fell against his forehead. “I’m not quite sure,” he responded. “Property I don’t own.”

“You ever want to find out where it leads?”

“Why would I?” Armitage drifted in front of Ben, also treading water.

Ben’s lips pursed together as he considered the answer. Wet brows rose and fell. “Curiosity.”

“Perhaps one day.” Armitage breathed in again. Treading water was quite the cardiovascular activity. His heart and lungs felt as if they were beating in tandem. He wondered if lungs could even beat like a heart could. Like his heart was beating right now looking at Ben.

Ben tipped his head to the side, staring momentarily off to the land beyond the waters they currently found themselves in. He looked at Armitage again and curled his mouth into a smile.

“What?”

Ben said nothing. Only smiled.

“Come off it,” Armitage ordered, “what are you smiling at?”

“You were so set on not coming in. What changed your mind?”

A scoff. “Does it matter?”

A wave of water crashed against Armitage’s face. He startled and gasped, choking when water went directly into his lungs. As soon as he’d cleared the water from his eyes and regained his water treading, he stared at Ben in utter shock. “Are you a _child_?”

“Depends on who you ask.” His voice was monotonous but another charming smile betrayed the tone. Ben splashed him again, drenching Armitage’s already drenched head.

His legs frantically kicked to keep him afloat while he recovered his sight. “Stop that!”

“Why? What changed your mind?” Though Armitage had trouble seeing, he could hear the source of the question moving. Ben was rotating around him. He angled his body toward the sound of water moving.

Armitage squinted and countered Ben’s movements. “You’re a fucking child, Solo, you realize that don’t you?”

“Whoa! Language!” Ben exclaimed.

The faux-insulted expression drove Armitage’s annoyance through the stratosphere. He moved his arms backward, pressing his shoulder-blades together, and pushed a wave of water toward Ben. The other man’s arms raised to shield his face from the incoming water. His face was missed almost entirely but the water still hit the intended target. Ben dismantled the shield his forearms had created to look at Armitage. The joy on his face was infectious.

Armitage had never played as a child or even as a young adolescent. As far as he was concerned, his play had been the game of war and the devising of strategy. It had given him the same rush that he was experiencing now shoving waves of water at Ben and protecting himself from the same waves being pushed back. It didn’t result in death that war had made all too certain. He was glad for it.

It was strange how much time flew when fun was being had. Armitage was only used to it in the sense that time flew when he was working on writing up reports or making plans for the First Order’s next move. Six years ago, he wouldn’t have dreamed of time flying by in a lake on Arkanis with Ben Solo of all people in the universe.

He found he didn’t regret it for the world.

* * *

The afternoon was reaching its midpoint by the time the game had lost its novelty. Ben and Armitage had floated toward shore as they conversed and argued with one another over meaningless things. They’d stopped when the water level had reached the middle of their respective abdomens. Armitage took to floating on his back with his eyes closed, allowing the sun to beat down on his face. Ben was standing and moving his hands fluidly through the water, absolutely enraptured in the feeling of the water passing between his fingers.

“Ben,” Armitage said suddenly. His hearing was muffled by the water. He had to lift himself from where he floated on his back and stand on his two feet. His feet pressed into the soft earth underneath the water. His toes pressed into it, truly feeling the clay-like texture of the earth mold to the shape of his feet. He pushed his hair back from his face and looked at Ben, who was giving him his utmost attention. His face was peaceful much as it had been earlier when he had been floating on his back.

“Yes?” Ben asked, his tone thoughtful and open.

Armitage’s mouth opened but he didn’t say a thing. He looked at the sky, at the sun and the clouds that were beginning to roll in. They were white with a tinge of grey. In reality, many of the clouds rolling in seemed to be rainclouds. Indeed, the sky was darkening with each passing moment. Still, Armitage thought, they were so beautiful; full and teeming with life and vibrancy. He felt something deep within his being struck by its utter magnificence and power the clouds held within them. His eyes closed themselves off to all sight. Instead, he allowed himself to experience how the beauty of the world he was currently existing within affect him on a deeper level than he’d ever let himself experience.

“I love this, Ben.” The sun warmed his face and his soul. Armitage leaned his head to the left side, warming his right cheek. Armitage could feel his right eyelid, in particular, warming. He could feel his shoulders and chest warming too. Specifically, he could feel his heart warming as Ben moved closer to him.

“Love what?” His voice was so near.

Armitage opened his eyes and looked to the right, to the source of Ben’s voice. He could see the tan pigment starting to appear on Ben’s shoulder. Some parts were pink, too; specifically, his neck. Ben’s head was angled toward him as he waited for an answer. Armitage’s shoulders rose and fell in response. A content smile graced his lips as he and Ben held each other’s eyes. Ben’s features softened the longer he looked at Armitage and the longer it took for one or the other to look away.

Neither did.

Much like earlier, their hands seemed to gravitate toward one another. Much like earlier, their fingers slotted together as if they were perfectly sculpted to do so; as if Armitage’s hands had no other purpose but to fit in Ben’s hands. Both of their hands met, this time, rather than just one. Their bodies faced one another; chest-to-chest as well as face-to-face.

A natural question generated itself out of nowhere. “When?”

Armitage didn’t recognize his own voice. He hadn’t realized he’d asked the question until he looked up from where their hands had met and at Ben’s face. He could see Ben’s brain working and he could almost see the hands of time moving backward. His hands squeezed Ben’s, gently constricting the delicate tendons and bones in his hand. The tenderness he used was foreign but he liked it; he wanted to use it right now.

Another hum rose from his chest. Ben’s head shook in silent response as he met Armitage’s look. “Definitely not when you accused me of plotting your death.”

Armitage’s tongue pressed against his cheek, grazing across his gums as he digested the answer. It certainly wasn’t the one he wanted to hear. Ben knew it. He knew Ben knew it. Ben couldn’t keep a straight face. He dissolved into a laugh which earned him a swat on the shoulders. Ben’s hands braced on Armitage’s arms as he leaned forward, catching himself off-balance and causing Armitage to momentarily lose his footing. He leaned against Ben for a moment as he steadied himself. Ben’s hands slipped to the older man’s waist and torso. They looked at one another, taking in their close proximity.

Really, this was all unbearable. Everything that was unspoken, unsaid, was unbearable. Armitage felt his lungs would burst. His entire being, really, would burst unless one of them broke this ungodly tension.

As it had before, their forehead fell against one another’s but this time was markedly different. Not just because they were both drenched in water or nude; but because there seemed to be a mutual and mental understanding between the two men. They were tired of fighting; Armitage was tired of fighting and playing the games he’d been instructed to play his entire life. This path that laid before them was new and unexplored. It was a path toward something unknown but it filled Armitage with so much hope. Hope; it was something he’d been lacking so much of in his life. The hope he felt now was utterly genuine. It took over his entire body and was transforming him into a man he did not recognize. It wasn’t the man he had been a year prior. A year prior, he’d been filled with so much hate and desperation that he’d resolved to never being happy until the man he was embracing was dead; either by his own hand or by the hand of the Resistance.

Armitage’s eyes remained closed so he could not see Ben. It might as well have been that he could see him for he could sense every movement of his head and his body. In his mind’s eye he could see the delicate, pretty features of Ben’s face move in a heartbreakingly intimate and vulnerable manner. He could see Ben’s hand moving to hold his face and his head angling so the side of their noses moved against one another. Armitage could see himself resting his own hand at the base of Ben’s neck and resist the urge to press his mouth firmly on Ben’s. Ben might see it as too desperate. But then again, at this point, did Ben even care how soon Armitage kissed him? It was more likely he just wanted to be kissed. Armitage thought to end Ben’s suffering as well as his own. It would be too simple. He would barely move a few muscles. It wouldn’t take much effort at all, really.

Something in the air rapidly changed. Armitage felt the warmth replaced with a chill. He heard Ben’s intake of air all too soon. He forced his eyes open and they both looked up at the sky as soon as the first few droplets of rain hit their heads.

“Fuck!” Ben shouted. Armitage squinted as another drop of rain hit his eye. He blinked and retracted from Ben only to rub the water out of his eyes. It was starting to rain.

“Fucking shit!” Ben shouted again. He could have commented on the swearing if the rain didn’t start to become gradual in a matter of seconds. Armitage stepped from Ben and found his jaw dropping in utter shock at the turn of events. Certainly he’d thought to expect rain from the presence of storm clouds, but he hadn’t thought the rain would interrupt their day so soon. Armitage laughed and found himself outstretching his arms toward the rain. Instead of total disappointment, he found his reaction was to laugh at the intervention. Of all the things the world could interrupt this moment with, it had to pick rain. He looked at Ben, still laughing, and watched the man’s face change from one of irritation to one that accepted the circumstances they were given.

They looked at one another and came to the same realization. “Fuck,” Ben said.

Armitage echoed him at the realization. “Fuck!”

The men quickly waded through the water toward the shore. Armitage scrambled to grab his trousers and hastily shoved his feet through the legs. He cringed as he felt the mud and grass sticking to his wet feet and certainly rubbing against his trousers as he pulled them on. It made his body recoil in disgust but he could handle that later. From behind him, Ben grabbed his own trousers as well as his shoes. Ben was shouting curses as the two ran for the tree trunk. Armitage hastily picked up his shirt and shoes. He grabbed the calligraphy book as well. It fumbled in his hands so much that Ben snatched it from him as he grabbed his shirt, using it to cover the book.

“Go, go! Fucking go!” Ben shouted. Armitage hadn’t heard Ben yell like this. It wasn’t entirely aggressive but more shocked. It almost seemed that he was holding back something behind it.

The rain began to pelt down harder as they scrambled toward the woods. Armitage’s trousers were barely on his body while Ben, for his part, was still naked. They shouted at each other as they sprinted into the tree line. Armitage turned his head back to the lake and shouted, “The fruit!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben exclaimed to him. “Fuck the fucking fruit!”

It was absurd that Armitage’s brain went toward retrieving the fruit. Ben had a point. Still, Armitage couldn’t help but find it utterly hilarious. His lungs were burning from running and laughing simultaneously; so much so that he had to slow down. His hand braced against the trunk of a large tree and he braced his other hand on his knee.

“Ben!” Armitage exclaimed. “Ben, stop!”

Ben was only about a foot in front of him. He was within arm’s reach. Armitage reached and caught his pinky and ring finger, pulling him back toward him. Luckily, Armitage had stopped under a tree that provided relatively great cover from the rain. Ben faced him with widened eyes. After a few cycles of labored breathing, he fell into eventual laughter which chorused with Armitage’s. He leaned his side against the trunk and pressed his hand against his chest as if trying to feel his lungs working. His eyes crinkled closed as he laughed. Armitage, too, leaned into his laughter as the reality of their situation settled over them.

When his eyes opened, a new round of laughter started up. Armitage’s hand gestured toward Ben’s general appearance. “You’re still naked. You’re still—dammit—“

His teeth grit together and his chest burned as he laughed harder than he’d ever laughed before. Armitage found his body leaning over and his head pressing against Ben’s bare shoulder to support himself. Ben’s steadying hand grasped his shoulder to support him while he, too, erupted into a new round of laughter. Something dropped close to their feet; the book and Ben’s shirt and trousers.

Their laughter began to subside as their backs pressed against the tree trunk. His attention belonged solely to Ben now and the state of his hair. Another laugh struck the former general.

“You look like a drenched Wookie,” he commented, folding one arm over his torso and gesturing to Ben’s appearance with his other hand.

“Fuck you,” came Ben’s response but he was smiling.

Armitage’s hand lifted to push Ben’s hair from his face. He paused when he recognized how his hand carded and caressed over Ben’s soft skin. The realization didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. They were the only two people in this world now. There was no one to tell them right or wrong or what to do concerning each other.

It was Ben who was hesitant; Armitage could tell it in his eyes as he moved the hair out of his face. Ben’s body angled toward the former general’s and he uncrossed his own arms as if to say **_here I am. I’m yours_**.

He didn’t remember who pressed their lips together first but when he came to, they were undoubtedly kissing. It wasn’t a long kiss at all but as soon as it was over, Armitage’s hand was on Ben’s jaw and he was kissing him again. Ben was kissing back. Ben’s hands were at his torso holding him steadily.

The teasing was over and done with; there was no point in dancing around each other as they had been for the past few days. Hell, they had been playing this game for the past few weeks. It had only taken them time to realize what had been there all along.

Armitage felt himself swept up into the moment and took charge. He pressed Ben’s body against the trunk of the tree as he deepened the kiss. He detected Ben’s hitched breath and the tightening of hands at his torso in reaction to it. Ben’s breath was hot against his mouth. His tongue urgently pressed between Armitage’s mouth and Armitage permitted it. He felt his clothed hips press squarely against Ben’s nude ones. The distinct difference between their states of dress was evident but it didn’t currently matter. Armitage wouldn’t bring attention to it just yet. He was addicted to the current act of kissing Ben. He suddenly couldn’t remember the moment before they had begun kissing. It all seemed to be a lifetime ago; a galaxy far, far away.

He forced his head back as he forced air into his lungs. Armitage’s body was trembling; whether from the cold or from arousal he did not know.

He stared at Ben whose face was flushed pink and red. Ben, whose back and being was being pressed against the wooden trunk of the tree they’d sought refuge underneath. Ben’s eyes were darker than they usually were and they were blazing with intensity. He watched Armitage and waited for him to make another move. His long fingers extended to touch his face and snake into his damp hair. Riding on the air of his exhale, Ben breathed, “Armitage.”

His name had never sounded better before that moment. Never before had he simultaneously felt so alive and yet so heartbroken. Armitage didn’t want anyone else to say his name but Ben for the rest of his days. Not X-3, not anyone else in the world. Ben Solo was the only one who could ever say his name with such tenderness and yet such desire. Ben Solo was the only man who could touch him like this. His world was just to be Ben Solo saying his name, Ben Solo touching him. Ben Solo was to be his entire world.

Armitage’s went back into the kiss and felt his heart twisting in the cavity of his chest. His arms encircled Ben’s neck and his fingers buried themselves in his hair. They could catch their death out here if they didn’t move inside fast enough.

_Let it come_ , Armitage thought. _Let the entire galaxy come. Let the Emperor rise again and the Resistance come to this planet and **try** to tear us apart. Let them try. Let them try to break us apart._

Ben’s breath hitched and he broke their mouths apart to look at Armitage. Fear momentarily flitted over the former general’s face as he stared at Ben.

“You need to stop being so _fucking_ loud.”

Ben Solo smiled. He smiled and he revived the sun that had shone so brightly on them both.

“Never,” said Armitage. He leaned back in and kissed Ben again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good things come to those who wait.
> 
> tumblr. sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Required listening for this chapter: "i love you" by Billie Eilish

He found that sleep wouldn’t take him as easily as it had Ben. Through the darkness, and the blessing of timely lightning flashes, he found his sight irrecoverably drawn to Ben’s sleeping form. How he rested on his side facing the older man. It was a vulnerable position to be in; open and trusting toward your bed fellow who, even after a year, could not fathom how life had changed so drastically.

Armitage watched as Ben’s sunburned shoulder rose and fell while he breathed. A short afternoon of sunlight had caused such a deep, passionate burning into his otherwise pale skin. The more he observed, the more freckles appeared on his shoulder and upper arm. He shifted carefully as not to disturb Ben and faced his resting form. He was utterly peaceful; more so than he ever was while meditating.

His fingers were drawn of their own volition to move over the sun-touched patches of his skin. Smooth yet still tender from the delicate burn. Clean from the rain yet also slicked with sweat from what had just occurred. Armitage’s mouth moved upward into a reflective smile as his fingers traced from Ben’s arm to his clavicle then to his throat and his jaw. This time, Armitage focused on the image of his sleeping face. How peaceful Ben was. He was almost as pretty as he was handsome. At rest, the weight of the world seemed to have disappeared from his shoulders.

The slumbering man twitched at the touch and shifted where he laid. A quiet shush left Armitage’s lips as he moved closed and pushed his own arm through Ben’s. He effectively hooked the arm under the other man’s and shifted so their foreheads touched again. At the contact, Ben smiled through his sleep.

“Hey,” came Ben’s whisper.

A quiet, intimate hum sounded from Armitage’s lips. “I thought you were asleep,” he stated softly. His fingers brushed over the sharp bone that was Ben’s shoulder blade. He kept his eyes closed even as Ben shifted. It was only imperative he could feel how close the other man was. That was the only caveat to this situation; Ben could move to be comfortable but he mustn’t move away from him.

“For a bit there, yeah,” Ben replied. His long fingers, too, began to press against Armitage’s shoulder and back. The former general found he rather liked the pressure. He hummed again and ghosted his mouth over Ben’s in gratitude. He was responded to with a firm, close-mouthed kiss.

* * *

They hadn’t been intimate in the way Armitage had expected from the intense kisses that brought them inside. Memories danced through his mind’s eye of he and Ben sprinting toward the estate as the rain fell harder around as well as on top of them both, soaking their bodies to the bone. They had hardly pulled away from one another; instead opting to continue their kisses and touches even when they made it inside. The wet clothes and book were forgotten on the floor as they only had intentions for kissing each other, touching each other. They had slipped a few times as their feet and bodies were slick with water. How they had managed to make it upstairs was a beyond Armitage entirely. One second they had been downstairs. The next, his back was pressed against his own door and Ben’s mouth was on his while his hands were exploring his chest and body.

A rare moment of insecurity had arisen when he suddenly stood naked and barren before Ben, who was already free of the bindings of clothing. Ben’s eyes, though wild and a deep brown, stared at Armitage expectantly as the man stood above him. Ben had leant up on his elbows from where he’d been pushed on the bed. He had waited as Armitage’s thoughts had raced through his head and he experienced clarity for the first time since they had first kissed. Ben was nude and lying on his bed. Armitage, himself, was without clothes as well; completely and utterly barren and vulnerable. Whereas before his head had been swimming and consumed with feelings of the heart and a primal desire for sexual release, he now realized the intensity of the moment. It was as if he had been drunk and now sobriety had struck him like a blaster bolt. Ben’s body was bold against the background of his bed. The image had screamed at his brain and flooded his vision with a warning red. Armitage had felt himself doubting his own capabilities and experience.

He’d shaken it away at first. Much of him _wanted_ to do this. He was excited at the prospect of intimacy with Ben. Kissing him had ignited every living cell in his body. He’d felt so alive when Ben’s mouth touched his, when his hands touched his body. Even staring at the waiting man on his bed, Armitage knew he had every right and all of the permission to be intimate with Ben. Lack of experience wasn’t entirely the problem; he was more than certain he could learn as he went along. Armitage was, after all, a fast learner. But as he had settled above Ben, with legs straddled on either side of him, something had brought him pause. Armitage hadn’t been sure what it was. He noticed his brain had begun to race and his thoughts fixated on what was to come next. He had begun to think of it too much. It had distracted him from enjoying the feeling of his bare body moving against Ben’s, his mouth taking and accepting the kisses and sighs of pleasure and approval from the man lying beneath him.

Then it had all stopped. Ben’s hands had remained on him as he broke the kiss and the men looked at one another. Ben’s face had been red and flush. Armitage remembered how it made the pit in his stomach twist and bury almost painfully into the lower portion of his body. It had only further excited him, yet something still gave him pause.

Neither of them had said a word. Strangely enough, Ben’s voice hadn’t appeared in his thoughts at all either. It was only the two of them looking at each other and reading the emotions in their expressions.

Armitage had felt reassured almost immediately. It only encouraged him to kiss Ben again and again. Kissing was good; kissing was more than good. For a time, that was enough for both of them. Then touching one another was a plausible next step. The next plausible one was focusing on bringing each other to a mutual climax. If Armitage had thought Ben would judge him for only wishing to use his hand, then he quickly found he had been sorely mistaken. Using one’s hand was enough, especially for a first time being _this_ intimate with another person. For now, they had both been satisfied with using each other’s hands and the friction of moving their bodies against one another to bring forth mutual pleasure and release.

* * *

That brought them to this current moment; lying in one another’s arms and barely moving a muscle. It had brought them to the closed mouth kiss that they were currently bestowing upon each other. Armitage’s eyes remained closed as the kiss deepened but remained rather lazy. It suited him just fine. His body had never quite experienced something like that before. Of course he had used his hand to bring himself to climax before. It was an entirely different occurrence to climax in the throes of passion with a lover. His body was more spent than he thought it would be. The atmosphere in the room was dim and humid, thanks in part to the storm raging outside. The humid air had traveled in with them and lingered for some time. The hot breath and sweat-slicked bodies, too, contributed to the warmth and coziness both men were experiencing.

Armitage’s head leaned against the pillow as he retracted from the kiss. His eyes slowly opened to take in the sight of Ben lying beside him. Again he recognized the beauty in Ben’s resting face. As Ben opened his eyes, Hux took the moment to appreciate how the drowsiness only served to accentuate his beauty. His hand reached to push Ben’s hair behind his ear. It traced down his jaw and over his lips. Ben’s eyes remained on his companion’s face the entire time.

“How long were we asleep for?”

_We_. The word held so much gravity. Armitage knew he could shoulder it now.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. His voice was above a whisper but not at full volume. “Couldn’t have been too long.” Armitage’s fingers found their way to Ben’s shoulder. They tapped lightly on the end of his collarbone.

Ben’s eyes half-closed. “Hungry?”

“Yes. But I’m not leaving this bed.”

The brown eyes opened fully. “You’re not?”

Armitage gave a small hum. “Are you?” He questioned casually.

Ben echoed Armitage’s hum. His hand moved through his bedfellow’s hair. Armitage found himself soothed by the touch. After the first stroke or two, his eyes closed. The urge to succumb to sleep was great. He found he had a new battle to fight; the battle to stay awake and continue looking at Ben.

“You never answered my question,” Armitage slurred. He swore he could hear Ben laugh because of it. He chose to ignore it. “Are you leaving this bed?”

He could almost picture Ben’s face moving into a thoughtful contortion. “Eventually I have to. I haven’t eaten for a while. Neither have you.”

“Would you return after you ate?” He found himself losing the battle to stay awake. Ben’s fingers felt all too pleasant in his hair. The contact was too wonderful. It stirred something within him that he was too afraid to explore.

Ben spoke again. “You have to eat too, Armitage.”

A smile graced his mouth. “Say it again.”

“What? Say what again?”

Green eyes opened. “My name. Say it again.”

Ben’s hand shifted from his hair to his face. Armitage wasn’t quite sure but he thought he saw Ben’s face moving toward his own. His suspicions were confirmed when he closed his eyes and Ben’s mouth covered his own. Armitage’s palm cushioned Ben’s cheek as they kissed.

Ben whispered, “Armitage.”

“Again.” He felt his heart ache. “ _Say it.”_

“ _Armitage_.”

Another kiss. He could hear the sheets moving and feel Ben move on top of him. Armitage’s face turned Ben’s hair and he held onto his shoulder as the man’s mouth graced his neck. It seemed as if Ben knew exactly which spots would send the blood rushing to his groin. Armitage’s legs parted for Ben and he felt his arousal press against his inner thigh. Ben’s breath was hot at his throat which only motivated Armitage to press his pelvis against his lover’s. It earned a moan this time and only added fuel to the fire between his legs.

It was as if he were in a dream. In truth, Armitage believed this was a dream. None of it could be real. Ben Solo couldn’t possibly be sharing his bed right now or moving their hips together. In any other state of mind, Armitage might have found the mechanics of it all rather foul and barbaric. Rutting against one another like animals was simply inhuman. Now he felt he was existing on another plane of reality. He couldn’t imagine feeling disgusted toward something so pleasurable, so beautiful.

For now, it was enough. For now, Armitage was satisfied with feeling Ben’s body in this way. Even the feeling of Ben’s release on his lower stomach didn’t entirely disgust him. His bath was mere feet away; he could clean up when he could bear being away from Ben for more than a second.

The drowsiness settled over him again as Ben laid on his chest with his face tucked into his neck and their legs tangled together. Armitage’s nostrils were filled with the smell of sweat and natural odor. He was not disgusted. This was Ben as he naturally was. The scent of sweat and sex was not foul to him now but, rather, made him feel inexplicably bonded to the man lying on top of him.

Armitage’s nose pressed into Ben’s hair. His fingers glided up and down his shoulder and spine. Ben seemed to approve. He wrapped his arm around Armitage’s torso and breathed softly into his neck. His mouth occasionally graced the skin with its presence but Ben otherwise rested there, unmoving and taking in the feeling of closeness. He only moved his head when Armitage kissed his forehead. He hadn’t known where the desire to do so came from; he was taken by the desire to kiss Ben’s forehead.

Ben’s eyes met his own and Armitage felt his heart break. The look on his face was painfully vulnerable and soft. It made him want to drop all defenses and admit how he was feeling. But he wouldn’t do that. Weren’t actions enough? Didn’t the past few hours convey all that needed to be said between them? For now, it was enough.

Still, the openness of Ben’s face touched Armitage’s heart in a way he’d never felt before. Not in this manner; never in this manner.

“We’ve got to leave this bed eventually,” Ben pointed out. His voice, clouded with sleep, suggested otherwise.

“Perhaps,” Armitage responded. “But not now.”

“No. Not now.”

Their smiles matched perfectly. Armitage’s mouth again kissed Ben’s forehead and he tightened his arm around the man’s body. Ben reciprocated the gesture graciously.

Hours moved. Armitage felt the familiar pangs of hunger but that could not motivate him to move Ben off his body. Ben, he believed, was sleeping. He could feel the steady movement of his chest as he breathed and he could feel the soft exhales from his mouth and nose. Armitage, too, had given himself over to brief periods of sleep. None of them had lasted particularly long for no other reason than he found himself eager to memorize this moment.

_I want to remember this. I want to remember this even when I grow old and forgetful. If I remember anything, I want to remember this moment. I want to remember how it made me feel. How **you** made me feel._

His eyes burned as he stared at Ben’s sleeping form. The darker haired man seemed so much more innocent than he actually was. Neither of them were innocent men. Armitage wore that proudly; he’d always maintain, until the day he died, that every choice he made in regards to the First Order was right. He’d done his best. He could have done better, but he’d done his best in the past. Ben, however, wasn’t the type of man he was. He had grown to regret the decisions he had made and the people he had hurt. He spoke lovingly of the family he’d left behind. He held his regrets and his conflicting points of view, yes, but he ultimately regarded the people who’d stuck out their necks for him with such fondness that Armitage could never understand. Until now. Until he had felt Ben’s touch and kiss and laid with him in bed for hours and hours on end. Now he understood the fondness. Now he understood the heart-breaking sensation of being so near and dear to someone who, despite all that had happened before, he’d grown to care for.

The burning led to tears sliding down his face. Armitage’s hand quickly covered his nose and cheekbones so he would catch the warm tears before they hit Ben’s head. He breathed slowly. The air was hot against his hand and so were the tears he silently cried. His heart ached so terribly that he thought he would die. No, he didn’t want to die. He wasn’t dying. Armitage knew what dying felt like and it wasn’t this. Something so beautiful couldn’t kill him. It _wouldn’t_ kill him.

Ben’s soft groan pulled him from this realization. Armitage swiped the tears and dried his hand on the pillow before gently angling Ben’s head up so he could see him. Brown eyes were slow to open and even slower to focus on Armitage’s face. Confusion was evident the longer he gazed at the red-haired man. Armitage shushed Ben as he had done hours ago and stroked his cheek to coax the look off his face. It was easy to get Ben to acquiesce in this state. Ben shifted so he was holding himself up. His hands pressed into the soft mattress as he got his bearings. He blinked slowly and moved his hair out of his eyes only to have it fall back into his face due to hanging his head.

From where he laid, Armitage smiled at the sight. He lifted a hand to lightly bat at the long strands hanging loose. “Are you ever going to cut it?”

“Would you like it if I did?” Ben asked. His voice worked through the drowsiness.

“Not entirely. Keep it long.” Slim fingers held the hair. “To the lower third of your neck, perhaps. I’ll do it.”

Ben leaned his head on his own shoulder as he regarded Armitage. “You’re not touching my hair.”

Armitage sat up entirely and held the base of Ben’s neck. “I’ve already shaved you,” he pointed out.

Ben’s eyes lowered to the general’s lips then raised to his eyes. “I’m not letting you cut my hair,” he protested. Nothing was firm in his voice, however. Armitage knew Ben would change his mind. He could change his mind so easily.

“No?” He leaned in and kissed the corner of Ben’s mouth. Ben’s head moved a fraction so their lips ghosted one another’s. Armitage retracted when that happened but he still kept his admiring gaze. “You’re certain of that? After I did such a wonderful job of shaving your face?”

Ben’s eyes rolled. “We’ll see.”

He could accept that for now. Armitage dropped his hand and shifted so his feet touched the ground for the first time in hours. He stretched his upper body and heard his bones pop and crack as he did so. It shocked him and drew laughter from Ben. “Shit,” the darker haired man exclaimed. Armitage heard him lay back down on the bed and muffle his laughter into the pillow.

“What’s so funny about that?” Hux genuinely questioned, turning his head over his shoulder toward his companion.

Ben laid on his side facing him. His smile was full of mirth. “I don’t know. It’s loud. You’re really boney.”

“If you make a comment about how thin I am,” Armitage warned, “I’ll have you outside in the storm. Naked.”

“You’ll _have_ me?” Ben leaned up on his elbow and shot a rather mischievous look.

Armitage threw the blankets over his face and got out of bed. He stared out the window. It was nearly pitch black. He next looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Had they really spent the entire afternoon and evening in bed? They’d wasted an entire day.

No, they hadn’t wasted it. It wasn’t a waste. He looked down at Ben in his bed. Ben Solo was in _his_ bed. The very thought pleased him.

Ben sat up entirely and looked over Armitage with a gentility that would have made a softer soul flush. Armitage found it rather curious. “What are you thinking about?’ He queried, facing Ben this time. He observed Ben’s focus and noted he didn’t visually acknowledge the lower half of his body. He didn’t act crassly as he imagined he might have.

Ben took a pillow and held it in front of his chest, hugging it into his abdomen. “What do you think I’m thinking about?” He posed.

“No, that’s not how this works.”

“Oh, there’s rules? This ought to be good,” snorted Ben.

Armitage stood with his shins and knees against the side of the bed. “What are you thinking about? Really?” He asked again.

It took some time for Ben to speak. Armitage found it fascinating to watch the gears turning on Ben’s face. He found that when Ben was lost in thought, he tended to move his hands and fingers. This time his fingers were pressing into the pillow and squeezing it. His body rocked as his lips mouthed words that were inaudible. His eyes darted anywhere and everywhere they could. They fixated on the walls, the ceiling, the bed itself. They fixated anywhere but Armitage.

Finally, Ben did speak. He breathed in as if he were sipping the air then worked his courage. “You.”

“Oh, that was rather anticlimactic. Thank you for that.”

Ben neglected the pillow and shifted so he was sitting at Armitage’s side of the bed. His legs parted and he drew the general in with hands on his hips. Ben looked up at him as if he were admiring a constellation in the stars. Armitage could so easily see the softness and youth in Ben’s face. Again, he felt his heart close to breaking.

“Really,” Ben said, “I’m not lying. I can’t stop looking at you. Thinking about you.”

Armitage’s hand moved through Ben’s hair and carded over his face as the younger man spoke. He regarded him with affection and gentility. “I have to take a bath. So do you.”

Ben’s fingers pressed into his hips. Armitage felt a particular knot start to loosen from the sharpness of Ben’s thumb. He hadn’t known he was holding tension there. An unexpected bonus indeed.

“Do you want me to go in with you?”

There wasn’t much thought given to the response. “Yes.”

There was actual bathing done in the bath and hardly any kissing. Knowing looks were shared between the two men but they actually did clean each other’s bodies of sweat and the remainders of their respective orgasms. Ben’s hands were nice on his body. Armitage felt as if they were praising him. He liked how that made him feel. It made him feel like a god to be worshipped and venerated. In turn, he treated Ben’s body the same way. He moved his hands and wash cloth over every inch of his skin until he was clean and smelling fresher thanks to the bath oils. Both cleaned themselves off and then Armitage was touching Ben’s hair again as they held each other in a light embrace.

“You’re not cutting my hair right this second.”

Armitage thoughtfully hummed, “I know.”

Ben’s fingers were grazing the former general’s back and shoulders. “You need to eat something. I need to eat something.”

“That means getting dressed,” Armitage pointed out. “That means leaving this room.”

“We’ve been in here all day.”

“It’s midnight, surely. Why not wait until the morning?”

Ben’s hands moved to Armitage's chest and torso. “Because I’m starving.”

“Go on, then. Go eat. I’ll stay here.” Armitage did not move. Neither did Ben. Instead, Ben kissed him. It was incredible how a kiss could feel so new even though they had been kissing each other all day. It was incredible how it could warm and excite Armitage’s heart to feel Ben kissing him and knowing that he _wanted_ to kiss him. His brain felt light. He didn’t feel as if he were existing in his body. Armitage felt euphoric.

“I’ll bring you something,” Ben promised as he broke the kiss. Armitage nodded in response though he made no point in letting the other man go.

It was an embarrassingly long amount of time until Ben finally stepped away from him and went toward the door. Armitage was paces behind him, thoughtfully watching as Ben moved toward the door and opened it. He left it open and granted Armitage the opportunity to go to the doorway and watch him walk in the direction of his own room. He heard the soft turn of the door handle and the click of the door when Ben entered his room.

He closed the door to his own room and took in what had happened. He took stock of how he was feeling. Nothing terrible to report. He wasn’t feeling ill, anxious, filled with dread and panic at the situation he found himself in. Rather, Armitage felt good. He genuinely felt _good_. His heart, in particular, felt as if it would burst. Something else was rising in him; joy. Pure, unfettered joy. Armitage’s hand touched his chest where his heart laid beneath layers of skin and the relative protection of his ribcage. He could feel it beating. He could truly **_feel_** it beating.

Armitage looked at his bed and the rumpled mess of sheets. Before he attended to that, he knew he needed to attend to his state of dress. He found a pair of trousers he tended to use for sleep and put those on. Then he found a shirt he also tended to use for sleep on colder nights. The fabric felt nice against his freshly clean skin. He couldn’t resist running his fingers over it to truly feel how smooth it was. He even smelled it. It was clean.

Next he attended to the bed. That was not clean. Rather, it smelled. But he wasn’t entirely disgusted by the smell. It smelled of sex and sweat and effort but, under all of that, it smelled like Ben. He couldn’t put a name to Ben’s scent yet but he found himself drawn to it and drawn to the side of the bed Ben had slept on. He sat and moved his fingers over the sheets where the imprint of Ben’s body was still visible. His lips regarded it with a smile as he could mentally see the outline of Ben’s bare body in the bed. In _his_ bed.

He knew there were extra sheets he could use while these were being cleaned. He stripped the bed entirely and found a wooden box with the extra sheets under the bed itself. He only needed to change the sheets; the blankets and comforter were fine. They contained Ben’s scent only rather than remnants of sex. Armitage marveled over the fact that he wasn’t reacting more unfavorably toward the state of his bedding. On the _Finalizer_ and _Supremacy_ , he had been strict with the status of his bedding. There was a specific schedule where his bedding had to be stripped, washed, and changed. He’d been clear and strict on it. Now he wasn’t even disgusted by the prospect of keeping the scent of Ben Solo around.

The dirtied sheets were bundled up and set in the wooden box, which was pushed into a corner of his room. Tomorrow he would find the time to wash them. That was all for tomorrow’s troubles.

Armitage had finished making the bed when there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find Ben holding two bowls of stew and some bread. With his foot, Ben encouraged the door closed. “You need to eat something,” he said matter-of-factly.

“We’re not eating in here,” Armitage pointed out. “It’ll get everywhere. It’ll be filthy.” He looked toward the bed. “I just changed it.”

Ben leveled a look at him. “I thought you’d be back in bed.”

“Why?” Armitage tilted his head. He found that his hair, though damp from the bath, was falling out of place. “Thought I was waiting for you?”

“Aren’t you?”

Armitage’s lips pressed together while Ben smiled with triumph. He continued, “We can go downstairs if you want to.”

“That would be favorable. Thank you.”

As he walked by Ben, he heard a muttered impression of his accent. Armitage stopped walking which shocked Ben, who abruptly stopped before they bumped into each other. The stew sloshed in the bowls but did not spill over thanks to Ben’s quick use of the Force.

“I really hate you,” Ben grunted. His voice was close to Armitage’s ear.

Armitage’s lips curled into a grin. “No you don’t.”

He could hear the smile in Ben’s voice. “No, I don’t.”

* * *

Dinner had led to a routine game of Dejarik. Though they played as normal, underneath the table their bare feet moved against one another. The sides of each other’s foot, ankle, and even calf was fair game. Their conversation was mostly normal except this time they were accompanied by knowing glances, long stares, and long pauses. It was after the third game that they silently agreed to return upstairs.

Words did not need to be said. Ben followed Armitage into his room and the latter allowed it. They fell into each other’s arms again but their kisses were lighter and less lustful. When they fell into bed together, they did not claw at each other’s bodies or tear at the boundaries clothing provided. Instead, they managed to make their way under the freshly made sheets and blankets to hold one another and to kiss. Yes, they undressed but sexual release was not the objective here. All Armitage wanted to do was kiss Ben. Kissing, Armitage decided, was something he liked to do. He liked how it made him feel drawn to Ben as well as more aware of him. He liked the feeling of Ben’s mouth on his own and how it drove him into a state of emotional security. He liked how Ben’s long fingers cradled his face and pressed into his cheekbones and jaw. He liked how neither man was in control for long; how naturally they would let the other lead the next moment.

Even better than kissing, Armitage liked how Ben gazed at him when they stopped. He liked seeing how open and honest he was. He liked how it made he himself feel; how his heart ached and beat and sobbed for Ben to keep holding him and not let him go. Armitage felt it selfish but he locked that away in his heart.

He felt drunk; he felt powerful.

This time, it was Armitage who felt himself succumbing to sleep as each moment passed. It was Armitage who began to close his eyes first. He shifted his body so he was laying against Ben’s chest with his head on the man’s shoulder. Almost automatically, Ben’s arms surrounded him and he turned his head to watch over the former general. From the lightest level of rest he was experiencing, Armitage could feel Ben’s mouth against his head. In response, he brought his arm around Ben’s torso. His fingers massaged Ben’s side tenderly as he gave himself over more and more to the warmth of rest.

He didn’t dare think of what the morning would bring. He didn’t think about what would happen once he came down from this high. He was too happy, too wrapped up in Ben Solo to think of the consequences this could bring.

For the first time in years, Armitage Hux fell asleep happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter 14

Armitage felt as if he was both dreaming as well as awake. How could it be that he could feel such overwhelming joy that he’d only experienced climbing the rungs to near-absolute power? The last time he’d felt this happy he’d witnessed Starkiller Base destroying the Hosnian System. All of the years of work had resulted in such a short-lived triumph yet he’d relished in it. His body had been ignited with genuine joy and happiness. He’d nearly cried from how alive he’d felt.

The days that followed the beginning of his and Ben’s relationship reminded him of that short-lived moment on Starkiller Base. Outwardly, not much was different. Armitage still looked the same as did Ben. They both cleaned the grounds from the previous day’s storm and brought in small kindling to add to the logs that stoked the fire. They prepared their respective breakfasts and sat in the ballroom as they had any other morning before. Ben had set about working on the droids while Armitage chose to attend to his reading. Intermittently, he’d gone to check on Ben and they conversed on Ben’s engineering methods rather casually. Nothing alluded to the fact their relationship had monumentally changed.

But if one were to look close enough, they would see the softened smiles shared between the men and the fondness with which they addressed one another. They would observe how the animosity had almost entirely disappeared from conversation. They argued, of course, as they always had before. They spoke to each other as they had for weeks and months before. But the bond between them was indescribably different.

Even Armitage was unsure of how to define it. It was proving difficult to him but it didn’t entirely bother him as his father’s legacy might have. It didn’t plague his waking and resting hours. He didn’t agonize over it. The panic and paranoia did not paralyze him and threaten to destroy all of the progress he had made throughout the years. In a sense, the creation of this new bond strengthened him. No longer did he have to face the same tasks day after day with the dread that this was to be the remainder of his existence. When he sat in the library at night, reading by the light of the illuminator, Ben more often than not sat opposite him with his own book. The company warmed his spirit more than the fire ever could.

Some nights Ben shared his bed. Armitage’s moods were subject to change and he voiced when he wished to go to bed alone. Ben, to his credit, didn’t push. Sometimes it was enough for them to doze off together on the couch. Armitage’s book would rest open with the pages on his chest. His head would lean against the arm of the couch with his face closer to the fire, warming his cold skin. Ben would either doze off at his own respective end of the couch or, more preferable, end up laying his head against Armitage’s abdomen with the older man’s arm around him. It wasn’t a large enough couch for them to completely lay on like a bed. There was also the fact that the two of them were above average height and had long limbs. But it didn’t matter to Armitage one bit. He found he liked waking in the middle of the night to see Ben laying against him. Sometimes even the sliding of either of their books onto the ground would rouse one or both from their respective slumbers. Then the incoherent mumblings would result in either the two men going to their separate beds or Armitage encouraging Ben to come to his bed where the two of them would go to sleep almost immediately after hitting the mattress.

Armitage would never admit it aloud but he did like having Ben sleep close to him. He even enjoyed waking up to him despite the puffiness of Ben’s face or how barely any part of his face was visible except for his eyes. Ben, he learned, tended to sleep with his face buried in either the pillow, the sheets, or with his hand covering it. Armitage didn’t understand and always tended to move Ben’s hand away from his face if that was the case for that particular morning. When the initial disdain for Ben’s appearance left, he found he liked how at peace the man looked. He liked how Ben’s mouth slightly opened as he slept and how he didn’t quite snore yet wasn’t entirely silent as he slept. Some mornings, Ben’s mouth was pressed against Armitage’s shoulder or neck while the rest of his body was laying on top of the former general’s. Other mornings, Armitage could find himself woken up to their positions reversed with his body laying against Ben’s chest and the darker haired man’s mouth moving to his forehead the minute he stirred. He wouldn’t let Ben kiss him on the mouth until they had both cleaned their teeth. But once they had cleaned their teeth and readied themselves for the day, they fell in step and time with one another. They would continue with their respective tasks for the day. Even if they started apart, they inevitably came back together.

No, Armitage would never admit how much he liked having Ben near him. Not aloud. Never aloud.

Four days after they had kissed was Ben’s birthday. Armitage had wakened to the realization and nearly jumped out of bed. He forced himself to bathe and dress before going to Ben’s door. It took perhaps a second longer than he would have preferred for Ben to open the door. Ben was mostly dressed. He wore trousers which were soft and suitable for sleep. His shirt was off but a black robe loosely hung over his shoulders. Ben’s hair was disheveled and his eyes were still puffy and reddened from sleep. His lips, too, were swollen. His hand rubbed over his face and scratched at the growing facial hair on his cheek.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice still low in his chest. Despite the fog of sleep still hanging around him, he regarded Armitage with fondness. His hand dropped from his face to hang down by his side.

“Good morning.” Armitage stepped closer and adjusted the robe so it properly covered Ben’s person. “Happy birthday.”

Ben still did not seem to realize what Armitage had said. Or, at least, he hardly acknowledged anything beyond the close proximity. His body leaned against the door frame while he moved an arm around the former general’s torso to draw him in. “What?” Ben asked through a yawn.

“Happy birthday,” Armitage repeated. He moved his hand up Ben’s bare chest to his neck.

A hum of acknowledgement sounded from within Ben’s chest. He bowed his head forward against Armitage’s, bumping his head in a matter that rather hurt initially. “Oh, right. That.”

The former general’s eyes rolled and he pulled his head back to take in the sight of Ben. “Go on,” he encouraged, “wake yourself up. I’ll prepare breakfast.”

“Come in. It’ll be fine.” Ben’s hand, still on Armitage’s back, gently pressed to encourage him inside. Armitage acquiesced and followed Ben in, closing the door behind him.

He moved from Ben’s hold when the man tried to kiss him. “Clean your teeth, first. Go on.”

Ben’s tired eyes squinted at him but he obeyed the request, knowing Armitage’s disdain for anything unclean. He removed his robe and threw it toward Armitage, who caught it, and went into his bathroom to prepare himself for the day. Ben tended to bathe at night or midday rather than the morning. Armitage never understood that and consistently questioned the reasoning whenever he had the opportunity.

Leaning in the archway of the door, Armitage observed Ben readying himself for the day. He cleaned his teeth then set about cleaning his face and hair. Under the running water, he wet his hair and ran his hand through it. When he shook his head, water sprayed nearly everywhere. Armitage lifted his hands to shield his face from the water and flicked his fingers disdainfully, ridding himself of the water.

“We have enough firewood for the day, right?” Ben asked, towel-drying his hair and looking at himself in the mirror.

Armitage nodded. “Right,” he confirmed. “There’s enough kindling and logs for the droids to keep the fires going.” He watched Ben throw down the towel. “Are you going to leave that there?”

Ben’s head turned toward Armitage. He was now wide awake. “—No.”

Skeptical, the older man asked, “Are you sure?”

A pause. “—Yes.”

“Go on, then.”

Ben slowly crooked up a finger. The towel jumped up into his hand. A dissatisfied, disapproving noise rumbled from Armitage’s throat. Ben hung it on the door to dry off and moved past his companion to get into the main room. His hand momentarily touched Armitage’s abdomen as he walked by. The men briefly glanced at each other and Ben began to go through the small selection of clothes. Armitage remained leaning against the doorway while Ben dressed himself in the black trousers, boots, and a black shirt that, surprisingly enough, was rather shapeless on his frame.

“Comfort rather than style, today?” Armitage questioned casually. Ben moved a hand through his hair and shrugged at the question. “I think I’m going to train today. The rain’s going to let up by mid-afternoon.”

Armitage nodded and watched Ben repeatedly move his hands through his hair. He stepped to the man’s side and gently moved his hips, repositioning his stance. Ben watched as Armitage tucked the front of the shirt into his trousers then smoothed it out. His dark brows knit together in confusion yet he allowed the other man to fix his appearance.

“If you must look like a shapeless sack,” said the man, his accent precise and clipped, “then let me make you look somewhat presentable. It may be your birthday, but we can’t have you looking repulsive.”

“I’m repulsive?” Ben’s voice walked the fine line between amused and insulted. It was so fine that Armitage’s head lifted and there was the slightest sign of panic in his eyes. It would be so easy to toy with him like this. Easy, but cruel.

Armitage’s panic was momentary as Ben visibly reacted to it. His fingers twitched and moved to hold the underside of his arms, almost cradling it like a child. His body leaned more into Armitage’s as the need to reassure him took over. Armitage’s hands rest at Ben’s hips as his fingers teased moving to touch the bare skin underneath the dark clothing. Instead of panicked, Armitage’s eyes showed a sign of certainty and victory at how Ben had reassured him. Ben moved in to kiss to corner of Armitage’s mouth then to fully kiss him. They were only parted by Armitage, whose hand pressed against his sternum to end the kiss and move them apart. “Breakfast,” he said. His voice was smooth and reminded Ben of how he felt after successfully meditating.

“Breakfast,” Ben confirmed. He waited for Armitage to move toward the door before reaching his hand out for his lightsaber. Quickly, he grabbed his holster and managed to secure everything on before Armitage turned to look at him. He caught up and closed the door behind them as they set off downstairs.

They prepared breakfast and sat together in the ballroom. It was a typically quiet and calm breakfast. Ben tended to finish eating before Armitage did. Ben tended to eat a bit faster and drank his caf or water at the end while Armitage leaned toward finishing his caf _and_ tea before he considered touching his food. When Armitage made the decision to finally eat, he tended to cut up his food _then_ slowly eat piece by piece, if it was solid food. Even if his food was in a liquid form, he only used one hand to consume it. His other hand tended to rest on the top of the table where it laid flat or his fingers moved against the surface, either tapping or rubbing up and down the fine wood finish.

Today was no different. Ben had finished eating and gone to drinking his caf while Armitage was minding his tea. His focus went toward the window and fixated on the drops of rain on the windows. It was rather light today. Ben would be able to train after all. Armitage hummed to himself at the realization while bringing the cup to his lips. The tea was still warm but not too hot. His tongue was relatively unscathed from the liquid. As soon as he put the cup down, he felt a dull pressing into his head. Armitage looked at Ben and narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Ben’s elbow was on the table and his chin rest on the heel of his hand. His fingers were tapping against his cheekbone.

Ben asked, “Will you watch?”

The former general’s free hand hit the table in frustration. “When will the day come that you don’t peer into my mind? And don’t say my thoughts are too loud. It irks me when you say that.” Armitage took a quick sip of his tea and gesticulated at Ben with the cup. “Do not mock me, either. I can see you mocking me in your thoughts. It’s childish.”

Ben could not resist grinning. Armitage noticed how a couple of his teeth were crooked. Not horrendously so but only a person as observant as Armitage Hux would be able to notice it. He wondered if that was due to fighting or if it was how his teeth naturally were. His eyes narrowed marginally. He couldn’t detect any sign that Ben’s teeth were misaligned by anything other than biology.

He didn’t realize that he’d been leaning his head toward Ben to get a better look. Armitage hadn’t realized it until Ben’s face was close to his. It shocked him out of his thoughts but the spike in his heart rate was quelled when Ben kissed him. His mouth fully tasted of caf. His lips were soft, however, and Armitage was inclined to lean into it. He did so for the briefest of moments before pulling back to admire the blissful look on Ben’s face. He finished his tea easily then stated, “Don’t be so proud of yourself.”

Ben’s hands raised in faux-defense of himself. He leaned his back against the chair and watched the former general rise and collect their dishes. “Will you watch?” He asked again, gently knocking his fingers against his lips in interest.

“Perhaps,” Armitage replied, holding the two cups by their handles. They dangled from his curled fingers and gently clacked together as he began to leave the ballroom. Ben’s chair echoed through the mostly empty room as it scraped against the floor. His boots against the floor made a firm noise that became louder the closer he drew to the former general. Armitage felt Ben’s fingers ghost the hand holding the cups. He stepped aside, out of the touch, and directed a look at him. Ben queried, “What does ‘perhaps’ mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means, Ben,” Armitage replied. They were at the stairs, now, and slowly descending the stone steps. “It means perhaps.”

They reached the kitchen and Armitage began to clean off the plates and dishes. The water was slow to warming, as was typical, and he created a soapy lather with the cleaning bar. Ben placed a cloth by his side then leaned against the counter to watch him work. Armitage could see, out of the corner of his eye, how Ben’s head tilted and his wavy hair swept over his shoulder. He made quick work of cleaning with the cloth then dried each item and handed it to Ben to put away. With a look, he made it clear that Ben was to do it himself. No use of the Force involved.

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” Ben calmly argued as he put the plates away and grasped the cups.

Armitage slowly cleaned his hands on a dry towel and shifted his body to observe him. “Certainly. It’s easy enough. Just forget about the choking and the throwing my body against various parts of _my_ ship. The trips to the medical bay—“

“You weren’t _badly_ injured.”

“The bruises would say otherwise.”

Ben shot him a loathing look. Amitage delicately continued to prove his point: “And the bruised rib. The time it took for my vocal cords to heal after being choked by air—“

“I get it.” Ben held up a defensive hand. Armitage merely smirked with triumph.

“The point is,” he said, “I’m not used to it. Nor do I think I want to be. Too many bad memories, as I’ve said repeatedly for the past however many months.”

“Seven. Or eight. Give or take.”

Armitage paused at the clarification. He folded the towel over his hands and leaned his hips against the side of the counter. Ben closed the cabinet door and inquisitively watched him. “What?”

“Which is it?” Armitage asked. “Seven or eight?”

Ben’s response was rather quick, thankfully. “Eight. I’ve been here for eight months.”

Eight months. Ben had arrived on Armitage’s fourth month of exile. He’d been on Arkanis for an entire year, already. An entire year that seemed to have been an entire lifetime. Half a lifetime of anger, fear, and paranoia. The other half had been something new entirely; something Armitage had never dreamed of experiencing. For a good three-quarters of this new lifetime, he’d wished he was dead. If he hadn’t been too much of a coward, perhaps he would have taken his own life. Perhaps he would have ended it long ago and Ben would have arrived to find his corpse rotting in his bed. Armitage almost dared to delve into the downward spiral. But with one touch and one look from Ben, he was pulled from the dangers of the dark abyss he was staring into. Armitage felt himself reassured by Ben’s hand touching his shoulder. He acknowledged it by patting his side and nodding in response to the silent question being begged by Ben’s ever-emotional eyes. He was fine. There would be no bouts of anxiety and irrationality today. He wouldn’t permit it.

“I suppose,” Armitage said after taking in a labored breath, “I will watch you after all. I trained many soldiers through the years. I guarantee I can teach you something the Jedi could not.”

“Really?” Ben seemed skeptical albeit pleased at the change in topic.

Armitage patted his companion’s side and threw the towel on the counter. “I’ll meet you outside by the woods,” he instructed. “Don’t keep me waiting. You know I hate being kept waiting.”

He could almost hear the smile in Ben’s voice as he replied, “Yes, sir.”

* * *

Ben’s technique wasn’t one Armitage would adopt for himself. It was brutal and unpracticed. There was none of the artistry and finesse that the Academy had offered. Brendol had educated them in the art of war, yes, but proper war had rules. There was a way wars were conducted. There had to be a certain class to it; a propriety. Brutality and excessive violence was not to be condoned. Brendol had been slightly wrong with that. As Armitage watched Ben train, he found beauty in the brutality.

As Ben worked on his offensive attacks and brutish technique, Armitage had opted to bring out a blanket and a couple of books in the certain case his attention wandered. It did, inevitably. Ben’s patterns became repetitive and Armitage mindlessly opened the calligraphy book. He’d finished it two days ago but he’d decided to give it a re-read. He opened the book on the blanket and leaned over it. His fingers lightly held the pages and gave a gentle turn when he was finished. The few light sprinkles of rain imprinted on the pages but it wasn’t enough to ruin the book. Luckily, the rain had lightened up by the time Armitage had gathered his belongings and gone outside by the South Woods. Ben had arrived a couple of minutes thereafter and begun to train.

It was quite nice to exist like this, Armitage realized as he looked up from his book to briefly observe Ben. Ben’s hair had begun to matte against his forehead as it grew slick with sweat and drizzle. His face was flush as well and contrasted with the blue of his lightsaber. Bizarrely, Armitage considered how calming the color of blue was. It reminded him of the clear day they’d been graced with only four days prior. Even as the saber vibrated and beamed the blue, Armitage still found it quite beautiful. He observed how Ben’s large right hand curled around the handle of it and kept the weapon firm in his grasp. There was no chance it would slip from the captivity of his fingers. Even through the shapeless black shirt, Armitage could see how Ben’s muscles worked and adjusted to each movement no matter how sudden they were. His teeth clenched and he made grunting sounds as he swung and jabbed toward pieces of wooden debris. Many of them were eviscerated with charred black holes. The scent of burning wood was faint but strong enough so that it danced by Armitage’s nose and graced his senses. He always did like the smell of burning wood. Even after a year of exile, he found it soothed him in the evenings or on a particularly rainy day where it was simply impossible to take a brief walk outside without being drenched. Armitage realized, suddenly, how he recently he’d begun to enjoy the scent. Not until he and Ben had made peace did he enjoy the smell. It must have been three months ago or even two.

Time was a fickle thing. Armitage wondered now why he even clung onto knowing how much time had passed. What did it matter? What did he have to look forward to in the next six months to a year? It wasn’t as if he was striving to smite out the Republic or working to take down a rogue planet of barbarian beings. He would lay down to bed and get up the next morning to the same routine he’d been experiencing, more or less, for the past year. He wasn’t striving to be Grand Marshal anymore. There was nothing to be Grand Marshal of.

His fingers had stopped moving the pages but remained between them as to trigger Armitage’s memory of where he’d left off. He readjusted his focus on Ben and realized that he’d removed his shirt. His face had been flushed, yes, but there were small and telling signs on his body of the effort he’d been giving his training. Small, coin-sized patches of red had cropped up at his collarbone and now graced his torso. It was easier to see how Ben’s muscles worked with each movement. Armitage found himself frowning as he analyzed Ben’s movements with a more critical eye. He earmarked the page and closed the book before he got to his feet.

“There’s another way to do that.”

Ben stopped and turned to look at him. His hair was nearly fully matted to his face and head. “What?”

“You’re doing more than you should. Come, look.” Armitage held out his hand for the lightsaber.

It was a second before Ben handed it to him. “Mind the blade,” he said, earning a nod from Armitage. Armitage connected with the awe and power suddenly flowing through his veins as he held the lightsaber. It was a feeling he’d felt when Ben initially offered him to use it.

He took a moment for the awe to subside before recalling the training that had long been buried in his muscle-memory. He’d never been the best as execution but Armitage prided himself on knowing how to properly wield weapons in a more mechanical way. After getting his bearings, Armitage positioned himself as if to strike at an enemy. He concentrated his muscles into moving in a way that eased the strain and pressure on them as he landed an overhead strike against the tree trunk Ben had been practicing on. He cleanly sliced through three-quarters of the trunk and stepped back without so much as wavering on his feet. Then, Armitage turned and thrust the saber through where, on a human, the pelvis would be. It would have completely shattered any remaining functions and capability for living if it had been a real person. Thanks to the make-up of the lightsaber, there would have been no bloody mess. The wound would be cauterized yet still inflict the amount of damage and death intended by the wielder.

“That,” Armitage said, “is how you execute a proper attack.” He disengaged the saber and held it toward Ben. “And that it how you do it without straining the muscle tissue in your shoulders and back. No wonder why you were consistently in the medical-bay.”

Ben’s face still held an expression of intrigue but he remained skeptical. “You’re leaving yourself too open and too vulnerable,” he countered. “You could have killed them, sure, but what if they had the abilities I do?”

“No one has the abilities you do, Ben.” Armitage closed his fingers around the handle and continued before they could dwell on the compliment. “You’re unique. But that doesn’t mean everyone else is. No one moves fast like you do.”

“Except Rey.”

“Well I wouldn’t know that because I’ve never fought her. Nor do I intend to.”

Armitage held the lightsaber to the side and ignited it again. He understood how it could become an extension of someone’s arm. His brain easily believed, for a mere second, that the saber was a part of him. It was akin to getting his personalized, coded blaster for the first time. He didn’t hold it much but when he did, he felt as if it enhanced his senses. It had given him a feeling of absolute power and control over lesser beings than himself. Now, holding Ben’s lightsaber, Armitage recalled feeling that powerful and that much control. He relished in it.

He looked aside at Ben and said, “Watch.”

Armitage wasn’t dressed to train. With his free hand, he rolled up his sleeves before going through a series of strikes and attacks he’d learned long ago as a boy at the Academy. They were basic, sure, but they were the foundations of proper form. Armitage’s specialty had never been with these weapons but he understood how to instruct and teach others. To Ben’s credit, he was watching Armitage and giving him the benefit of the doubt. Intuitively, he knew this to be true.

He finished the series and handed the lightsaber toward Ben. “Move slowly,” he instructed, moving to stand just off to the side. “I’ll give corrections when needed.”

Ben assumed a stance and went about copying Armitage’s motions. Armitage placed a hand against his arm to stop him then corrected where Ben was holding tension and over-working his muscles. “You’re going to end up with soreness.”

“I can heal that,” Ben countered.

“That may be.” It was true but Armitage discounted it immediately. “But let’s prevent an injury before it happens. What if you’re in the midst of fighting someone and you have to stop because you’ve seriously pulled something?”

Ben’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. The look he directed to Armitage would have been laughable if the latter hadn’t been so serious about the instruction he was giving. “If I’ve seriously _pulled_ something in the middle of a _fight_?” He asked in a vacant tone. He waved his hand before Armitage could speak and said, “I want you to really think about what you just asked me.”

“Ben,” Armitage warned, “you know what I mean. It’s about preventing obstacles before they happen.”

His hands rested on Ben’s shoulders and he jabbed his thumbs into the man’s muscles to push away the tension as well as work to shift the positioning of his arms. Ben grunted when Armitage’s sharp fingers drove into his body but he allowed the readjustment. Armitage muttered for Ben to stop complaining and fixed his arms as well. “There,” he said, stepping back. “Now when you follow through with the attack, go slowly and see how that feels.”

Ben did as Armitage said. His dark brows lifted toward his hairline as he slowly carried through with the swing. The lightsaber pierced through the trunk and finally did it in. The wood fell to the ground and they were left with barely a stump. Ben disengaged the saber and looked at Armitage. The former general was giving him a look that said _I told you._

A laugh rumbled from within Ben’s chest and he scratched the back of his head. The Force-user looked at the wood scattered on the ground then back at Armitage. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. You were right about that.”

“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite hear you,” Armitage said, prideful.

“Might want to get that checked. It’s a sign of aging.” Ben disengaged the saber and holstered it. He kicked at the wood on the ground to move it aside. “But that did feel better.”

“I know,” Armitage replied. “You don’t need to go hacking away at everything. It’ll wear down your body. Then where will you be?”

Ben aimed his face at the sky, watching the grey clouds rolling. His eyes squinted. Despite the cloudiness of the day, there was still dull sunlight that shone through. “I don’t think there’s much reason to fight here,” he finally said, still looking at the sky. “It’s not like there’s much to do.” He looked at Armitage who was picking up the black shirt that had been discarded on the ground. He accepted the shirt and dabbed at the sweat and rain on his chest, neck, and face. Ben looked at the calligraphy book on the blanket and nodded toward it. “You like it?”

“It’s interesting,” Armitage replied, turning his attention toward the book. His hands rested on his hips. “I never considered it before. You spent so much time talking about it that I had to give it a thorough read.”

“Didn’t you finish it the other day?” Ben queried, his voice lifting at the end of the question. He pulled his shirt back on and pushed back his hair.

Armitage confirmed it. “I thought I’d read it again. See if there were any details I missed.”

“To see if you could get anything practical out of it?” Ben went to pick up the blanket and books Armitage had brought. The former general stepped by his companion’s side and they began to walk back to the estate. Their steps brought them to the serpentine lake and they stopped to look over it.

“Like you said,” Armitage continued, “there’s not much to do.” He knelt and searched the grass for something, anything. His fingers closed around small pebbles. He tossed them toward the water and watched the ripples. Ben shifted so their shoulders touched. His hand then touched the middle of the other’s back. Armitage, in turn, moved his arm around Ben’s torso and ever so slightly angled his body toward Ben’s.

Though Ben was only three inches taller than him, Armitage never gave much weight to their height difference. It wasn’t a monumental difference between them. If anything, Armitage often forgot that Ben was slightly taller. He often considered them to be the same height. Their eyes would meet on an equal plane, much as they did at this moment. Both men shared a look of serenity. There might not be anything to do but it would have been unbearable if they had not made peace with one another. Armitage looked over the lake again. His fingers tightened on Ben’s left side where they rest. He could feel Ben’s lungs expanding and contracting as he breathed with such ease. Taking the time to look over the water and take in their surroundings was rather nice. Armitage had loathed it for the entire time he’d been exiled but now he found the lake rather picturesque and serene. He didn’t think about Maratelle as he often did when he looked at the lake. In fact, he hadn’t truly thought about her in a few days. That was a nice change of pace.

Ben’s calm voice broke the silence, though it was not unwelcome. His voice was close to Armitage’s ear as he said, “This isn’t the way I thought I’d spend my birthday. But, I appreciate it.”

“How did you think you’d spend it?” Questioned the former general. He looked at Ben out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t recall you ever celebrating it, per se.”

“No, I didn’t,” Ben confirmed. “I still don’t think it’s a big deal. You’re a year older. It only marks age.”

“You were insistent on celebrating _my_ birthday," Armitage pointed out.

Ben’s head tilted from side to side. His eyes squinted as he collected his thoughts and noise rattled from deep within his throat. “Well,” he finally said, “that’s because it was your birthday, not mine.”

“Hang on.” Armitage fully looked at Ben now. “You can’t make a claim about birthdays being unimportant and then state that mine was more important than yours.” The hand on Ben’s side squeezed the space under his ribs. Ben shifted at the feeling and shook his head as he pondered his next words.

“I can do that to myself because I’m talking about myself. You’re…different.” Ben looked at the lake again and paused before insisting, “Don’t tell me how appalling I am for saying that. I fully understand what I just said was the most cliché and ridiculous thing.”

The arm around Ben’s torso removed itself and lifted so Armitage could push his hand through the darker-haired man’s hair. It became clear that Ben was trying not to look at him. Armitage took it upon himself to encourage their eyes to meet. Ben seemed particularly vulnerable and open when he finally looked at Armitage. The levity in his voice was gone and Armitage could tell, from the way Ben spoke in his chest voice, that he was serious.

Ben sipped the air and said, “You’re different. You’re a different man than you were. So much of you is still the same but—I don’t know what it is. I’m different, too. I’m not Kylo Ren anymore.”

“I know you’re not Kylo Ren,” Armitage said gently. “For as much as I’ve doubted you, you’ve proven me wrong. As much as I hate to admit it.”

Both of them acknowledged it with a small laugh. Armitage’s hand rubbed Ben’s hairline and affectionately shoved his head to the side. Ben lowered his eyes and looked sheepish. It was rather sweet, if one put a word to it. Ben looked at Armitage again and hesitated before leaning in to kiss his mouth. It was chaste and small but it filled his heart with warmth and something he’d never felt before. It was overwhelming and all-encompassing, almost like the fits of panic that would overtake all of Armitage’s senses. But this was so much better. It hurt but not in a way that sent him into a downward spiral. On the contrary, it was a good sort of hurt. It helped Armitage remember there was more to life and more to being around Ben than bad memories. There could be good memories between them; more than good, even. Wonderful memories.

The kiss deepened slightly but only just so. Armitage’s hand was still cupping the side of Ben’s face while Ben’s hand was still touching the former general’s back. He was smiling when they parted. Both men were, actually. Armitage was the first to open his eyes. The look of bliss on Ben’s face was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his life. He had to make a list. He was more than certain Ben would appear multiple times on it.

“Let’s get this inside?” Ben asked, regarding the blanket and books. Armitage nodded in confirmation and the two returned to the shelter the estate provided.

Once inside, Ben made a small detour to place the books and blanket into the library. He moved past one of the LEP droids that was puttering around and seeing to the fires. He widened his eyes and contorted his face into a rather humorous expression which was successful in getting Armitage to laugh from where he stood at the door. His hand ghosted the small of Ben’s back as they went to the stairway. The hand encouraged Ben to step in front of him. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and Ben immediately turned to pull Armitage in toward him. Ben’s back went against the wall as Armitage stepped in front of him and drew Ben into a kiss.

As Armitage’s hands curled at the worn collar of Ben’s shirt and Ben’s hands were slowly untucking the former’s shirt, they just barely heard the whirring of X-3: “Master Armitage? Master Solo?”

The kiss ended and they both looked at the droid as if they were being scolded by Snoke. Armitage hadn’t felt the genuine urge to destroy something in quite a couple of weeks. He rediscovered this feeling as X-3 moved toward them. He didn’t remove his hands from Ben and nor did the other remove his hands. They stood frozen in the rather compromising position; though it was not as compromising as it _could_ have been. Ben’s fingers released the shirt but pressed against Armitage’s back, effectively holding the man against his chest.

“What is it, X-3?” Asked Armitage. He felt Ben’s chest rumbling as he chuckled. He mentally insulted the other, which he knew Ben would hear.

“Master Armitage, something arrived for you while you and Master Solo were out of doors.” The droid looked from Ben to Armitage. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Ben quickly replied. Armitage was struck as dumbfounded by how nonchalant his voice sounded. He looked at Ben as he confidently continued, “Nothing’s wrong. What arrived, X-3?”

“Master Armitage, one of the other droids returned with the order you requested.”

“Order?” Ben asked, echoing the droid. He looked at Armitage who, in turn, looked at X-3. “Thank you, X-3. That will be all.” The former general was rather flustered in his response.

X-3 whirred. “It is waiting in your office.”

“Thank you. That will be all,” Armitage repeated. Ben’s hands pressed the lower halves of their bodies together. Armitage cleared his throat impatiently, much to Ben’s clear delight. He stepped away from Ben but walked toward the door to his room rather than his own. X-3 visually followed Ben as the darker-haired man went to his room, opened the door, and didn’t close it until Armitage followed him inside.

“Humans,” X-3 merely said as the door clicked shut and there was a thudding sound. The droid simply wandered down the stairs, leaving his master and the long-term guest to whatever it was they were doing.

“What did you order from town?” Ben asked as Armitage pressed him against the door. His shut closed as he felt teeth scraping and sinking lightly into his neck. His fingertips indented into Armitage’s back. There would surely be light bruising. Armitage knew that for certain and did not protest.

“If I told you,” he said as his mouth hovered under Ben’s ear and near his jaw, “then it would ruin everything.”

He felt Ben about to respond and stopped the next question with a kiss. Ben’s hands held Armitage’s face and tangled in his hair. His hair would certainly be disheveled if Ben kept up with this. Armitage’s teeth nipped the bottom of the other man’s mouth before the kiss deepened. The sudden urge to drop to his knees overtook him. It surprised even Armitage. Ben’s face was even more surprised. They paused and looked at one another. The monumental significance of this moment did not escape either of them. Armitage Hux did not get on his knees for anyone. He did not give into the whims of another so easily. If he did, there was always an agenda behind it.

His only agenda now was to please Ben; to see the look on his face turn from surprise to bliss and pleasure. It would please Armitage greatly to be the one who made Ben feel such ecstasy.

With eyes still on Ben, he lifted up the hem of his shirt to reveal his abdomen. The second his mouth touched Ben’s skin, the hands were in his hair again and he could _feel_ the shudder that rocked the darker-haired man’s body. As his fingers unfastened Ben’s trousers, Armitage looked at him the entire time. He smirked up at him before taking him into his mouth.

Ben moaned and it was the most intoxicating sound Armitage had ever heard.

* * *

After dinner and a few rounds of Dejarik, Armitage had promised Ben he would accompany him to bed. He first stopped in his office and inspected the order. It was in a wooden box with a latch. The wood was finely sanded down and the latch was a fine metal akin to gold. Armitage had sent his droid into town two days ago to inquire about something particular. He was thankful the merchant possessed what he had been looking for and that the order came to the estate on the right day. Content with what was inside, he held the box and carefully walked it down to Ben’s room. Ben had left the door unlocked so Armitage could come in. Ben emerged from the bathroom drying his hair with a towel and with his soft, casual sleep trousers on. His face was freshly shaved and he smelled clean.

Ben nodded his head toward the small box in Armitage’s hands. “What’s that? What you ordered from town?”

Armitage gave a nod of confirmation and said, “Go, sit.”

“Why?” But Ben folded the towel and set it in the private bathroom before going to sit on his bed. His hands braced on the tops of his thighs as Armitage sat beside him. His fingers tapped on the box as he considered it.

“I don’t—you understand more than anyone that I don’t trust very many people,” Armitage began.

Ben watched him with interest. His eyes moved between the box and Armitage. “That’s an understatement,” he interrupted, “but go on.”

A pointed look. Armitage said, “Which also means I don’t tend to do this sort of thing often. It doesn’t come easily to me.” He paused. “But I supposed that since you gave me something for my birthday, I should give you something.”

“I didn’t give you anything besides a bottle of alcohol that we finished in one night.” Ben shook his head at Armitage’s words.

The former general frowned. “I’m not talking about that.” He placed the box in Ben’s lap.

Ben was skeptical as he searched Armitage’s eyes for an easy answer. He found none. Armitage even felt a slight intrusion into his mind. He offered Ben nothing but silence. “Open it.”

Slowly, Ben unlatched the box and lifted the lid. His eyes went from skepticism to genuine shock. Carefully, as if touching a priceless artifact, he took out the pieces to the calligraphy kit. There were selections of inks, pens, and even special papers that Armitage had made sure the merchant provided so Ben had options that would last him for longer than a day. Armitage’s expression was one of pride as Ben examined his gift in its entirety.

“You’ve done much for me,” he said as Ben continued to look over his gift. Armitage’s body turned toward Ben. “I saw how you were excited by our conversations about calligraphy. I don’t entirely understand it, though I’m trying to.” He leaned his head to the side in order to see Ben’s full range of emotions. The corner of his mouth lifted as he detected a heartfelt look of surprise. “I knew you’d like it.”

Ben made sure everything was placed in the box before he closed it, latched it, and set it on the floor by his feet. “How many credits was that?”

“Don’t worry about how many credits it was. It doesn’t matter.” Armitage turned Ben’s face toward his and lightly kissed his mouth. “Happy birthday, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes lightly closed. With their faces so close, Armitage could feel his lashes against his face. He kissed the darker-haired man again then felt Ben lean his head on his shoulder. His arms easily encircled the younger man’s body and he stroked his hair. Ben’s arms went under Armitage’s and rest against his shoulder blades. “Thank you,” he said. His voice wavered.

“Like I said,” Armitage replied gently, “I don’t do things like this often. Don’t get used to it.”

Ben lifted his head and kissed him. The former general allowed Ben to ease him down on the bed and shift on top of him. They remained like that for some insurmountable amount of time; Ben kissing him and touching his face and chest. Armitage’s legs parted so Ben could fit between them. They broke apart so they could look at one another. His pale, thin hand regarded Ben’s face as they gazed upon one another.

Armitage’s concentration was broached by an intrusive thought, though this one was more than welcomed. His lips parted as he was seized by a realization. Ben’s brown eyes traveled over his face as he tried to silently understand what his companion was thinking. It soon became too laborious to read Armitage’s expression. “What is it?” Ben asked.

Armitage sat up on his elbows. His head slowly nodded as he said, “I want to try it.”

“—Try what?”

Actually saying the words without feeling foolish was harder than he’d thought. Armitage tried to make Ben understand by looks alone but it was evident that Ben wasn’t understanding. “You know,” the fairer haired man said, tilting his head from side to side. The words were at the tip of his tongue but he could not bring himself to say them. “To try…that.”

“That?” Ben’s brows furrowed.

“Don’t make me say it. It’s crass.” Armitage leaned his head back with a groan then regained his focus on Ben. He brought one hand to Ben’s neck again. With difficulty, he managed to say, “I want to try being intimate with you. Not like we have been and not like earlier.” Another pause. Armitage felt the insides of his body flush and the heat at his face and ears. Damn it all to hell, he was terrible at this. He didn’t want to say it but he had to. It was a childish fear. They were both adults, damn it all, they could have this sort of conversation and admit what they both wanted.

Ben allowed Armitage to struggle through the request but it was becoming painful to witness. He brought his fingers through Armitage’s hair and said, “Say it,” in a gentle, encouraging tone.

Armitage surrendered. His voice became quiet. He felt completely barren and nude despite the clear fact he was fully clothed. He felt the urge to run and leave the room, but he did not. He stood his ground. He admitted his desire:

“I want you inside of me.”

If he was worried for even a second that Ben would judge him, the fears were unfounded. Ben’s mouth was gentle on Armitage’s as they kissed. This was an entirely new sort of kiss; one that touched his soul in a way even their first kiss had not touched him. Armitage surrendered his control to Ben and let go of his inhibitions. He submitted himself to the pleasure and to the overwhelming feeling that he was desired and wanted. Their bodies moved together until they became one at last.

No longer were they two separate, feuding halves. In this hell, they had found sanctuary and safety within each other. After all this time, they had realized that it was the other that made them feel entirely whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	15. Chapter 15

Time no longer held meaning. Armitage refused to give it value. There was no point in keeping track of the days Ben had been there or of the amount of time Armitage had stayed at his father’s house. He didn’t measure time in hours or days, now, but rather in expectation. He woke, more often than not, with Ben in his bed. He had grown accustomed to the sight of Ben still asleep either on top of his own chest or beneath him. Regardless, Armitage would peel himself out of Ben’s vicinity and go to bathe himself. Sometimes Ben would be awake by the time he was finished. Other times Ben would still be asleep and almost impossible to find in the mess of sheets and blankets. Ben, as Armitage learned, never slept in a consistent fashion. More often than not it would depend on where Armitage slept. If he slept on his side, Ben would curl himself around or against the older man’s body. If Armitage slept on his back, Ben would either sleep against his chest or on his stomach with his arm splayed across his torso. If Ben slept on his back, oftentimes Armitage would be the one sleeping on his chest or with some part of his body touching Ben’s. It was the same no matter whose bed they slept in; they always had to be touching one another in one way or another.

Regardless of how they slept or if Ben woke after Armitage, the older man would dress himself and check on Ben’s progress for the morning. If he slept too late, Armitage would go prepare breakfast or tend to the wood stores. More often than not, nowadays, they had a surplus and did not have to procure as much from the woods. Armitage would prepare himself caf and tea as well as pour a cup for Ben for when he inevitably woke up and came downstairs. They would always share breakfast with one another then go about their tasks for the day; some they would do together while others, apart. They weren’t the sort to cling to one another for hours at a time or pine for the other when they were in separate rooms. Had this occurred when they were much younger, perhaps they would feel the desperation to be together all hours of the day.

But they were adult men. Further, they were adult men who still butted heads despite their intimate bond with each other. Just because they were mutually infatuated with one another did not mean arguments were off the table. On the contrary, Armitage was more apt to press at his point and challenge Ben until their voices were loud enough to shatter the glass windows in the estate. Ben, too, was still prone to outbursts though he thankfully did not destroy anything of value. There would be thudding and pounding on the walls, yes, and even a chair thrown aside and damaged. Thankfully, Ben would have enough sense to repair the damage done when he’d sufficiently calmed down.

Oftentimes, Armitage would go to his office or to the library to enrich his mind. Solitary walks through the property were also taken when it wasn’t too rainy. If Ben ended up outside, he didn’t make himself known until Armitage made his way back toward the estate. Sometimes they would pass the time working on Ben’s training and Ben would teach Armitage how to properly wield a saber-like weapon. Disagreements on method were sure to interrupt as well as debates on who was properly trained. Armitage would refuse to give Brendol all of the credit and, instead, insist that he’d taught himself proper methods after seeing all the wrong his father did in the first generations of the Commandant’s Cadets. Ben would listen, yes, but more often than not roll his eyes and poke holes in Armitage’s words.

The time they spent together became precious to Armitage. Whereas before he feared he wouldn’t know how he could tolerate Ben every day, he now couldn’t think of a day where Ben wasn’t the person he woke up to and shared his day with. Armitage couldn’t imagine conversing with his domestic droids about the books he’d read or the new information he’d learned from his father’s papers. He wouldn’t have been able to work through the conflicting and oftentimes agonizing thoughts and feelings he still held toward his father. If Ben hadn’t arrived and had such strong faith in him, Armitage wondered if he would still be sane. Looking back on it, he’d been holding onto the thin threads of sanity. Had he permitted his thoughts to overtake him, there was a chance that Armitage would have followed his dark impulses toward the deep waters of the lake. Or, rather, he might have considered the sharp kiss of a knife against his vital veins and arteries. Looking back on those thoughts, Armitage realized how vital it had been for Ben to arrive and to make the decision to stay.

Regardless if their relationship had progressed to the point it was at now or if they had merely stayed tentative friends, Armitage was fully aware of the benefit of Ben’s company.

Ben, too, seemed to thrive from their bond. He spoke freely and in such a way that Armitage began to see new sides to him. He actively shared and spoke of interests besides calligraphy as well as some light-hearted moments from his childhood. Armitage learned much about Ben’s youth before he went off with his uncle; how he’d been happy before he’d taken on the great burden of his namesake and his lineage. He spoke of how his father and the Wookie had taken him for flights in the Millennium Falcon and how his father had sat him in his own lap when he was big enough. Armitage couldn’t help but relish in the lightness in Ben’s eyes and the joy the younger man seemed to take in sharing such personal tales. It also stoked the flames of jealousy but they never amounted to much besides tense and terse reactions as he thought of how his own father could have been. But Armitage barely spared more than a collective ten minutes of thought on Brendol. The man was dead and he would rather have not given him the pleasure of a resurrection.

One night, as Ben shared a story about how his father had encouraged him to co-pilot the Falcon, Armitage looked rather uncomfortable when a memory surfaced. He threw back the glass of brandy Ben had procured for them on their last trip into town and exclaimed, “My father never encouraged me to fly. He said it was dirty work and that a general never got their hands dirty.”

“Says the man who ordered the murder of thousands,” Ben snorted, drinking from his own glass.

They were laying on separate pieces of furniture in the library; Armitage was laying on the couch while Ben sat improperly on the chair opposite him. His long legs draped over the right side of the chair with his knees bent over the arm of the furniture. Armitage, too, was laid out horizontally on the couch but at least he could claim he was reclining appropriately. In his long fingers he clutched the now empty glass. His cigarette case, which he had found in his father’s belongings, laid open on the table between them with four unlit cigarettes tucked nearly inside. Remainders of smoked cigarettes were stubbed and scattered on a plate that served, for now, as an ashtray. Armitage had the mind to smoke his sixth one. He picked it up and found the book of matches. Quickly and fluidly, he lit the cigarette and puffed on it twice before taking a long drag and gesticulating with it in his long fingers while he spoke.

“All sacrificed in pursuit of science and restoring the galaxy to its rightful state,” Armitage explained without care.

Ben lauded him a look that fully informed his displeasure. Armitage tapped the ashes of the cigarette into the plate and held the cigarette tautly between his lips and teeth. “As I recall, you didn’t do anything to stop me giving the order. You went along with it,” he pointed out, muttering his words against the cigarette in his teeth. There was no answer for quite some time. Ben tipped the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowed it down before leaning his head back against the left arm of the chair. From where Armitage sat, he could see Ben’s eyes searching the ceiling as if the correct retort was up there floating about. He tilted his head to the side and took out the cigarette. He tapped the ashes off then held it above his head as he watched the smoke curling off the end. “You’ve spoken about how ‘reformed’ you are,” Armitage suddenly mused, “but are you really? Is Ben Solo really such a purist?” He turned his head to look at the other. “Tell me. I want to know.”

Ben’s eyes continued to search the ceiling as he internalized the questions. “To me,” he eventually said, “I don’t agree with a lot of what you and Palpatine did. Not entirely, anymore.” He noticed Armitage’s expression change to shock. “But then I think about whether I’d do the same thing if I were you.” Ben paused again as he set his glass on the table between them and rested his hands on his abdomen. His chest evenly rose and fell. The alcohol had soothed any nerves this topic may have broached. He continued, “I think about some of the things I did—as Kylo Ren—and the fact that I _liked_ it. I liked feeling in control and powerful. I liked having command. Not as much command as you did, but it was more command and control than I’d ever had in my life.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Armitage finished smoking on his cigarette and inspected it closely. He would have to stub it out, soon. “You were my equal, essentially.”

“Fine, I was.” Ben looked at the other man now. “I was your equal even if neither of us wanted to accept it then. I won’t lie and say that I hated it all the time. I liked it. People feared me and it was better than feeling worthless.” His fingers tapped on his own abdomen then up to his sternum. “It was better than thinking about what my parents were thinking or Luke. It was easier to focus on controlling what the people in the First Order thought of me or how I was seen throughout the galaxy. It was easier to _be_ Kylo Ren.”

He punctuated the end of his sentence with a sigh. With his outer hand, he reached for the decanter on the table and poured a new glass with some difficulty as he didn’t want to move from his semi-comfortable position. Armitage watched the emotion in Ben’s eyes. It was clear he still struggled with what he had done.

“How guilty do you feel?” Armitage questioned genuinely. “For those you killed. For what you feel you did wrong. How guilty do you feel?”

“How guilty do _you_ feel? You say you don’t regret a thing but is that true?” Ben brought the glass to his mouth and shifted to a proper sitting position. He looked like a brooding king on a throne.

Armitage remained reclining on the couch. He extinguished the cigarette and reached for a new one to light and ponder over. “When you say ‘guilty’,” he began, “I assume you mean for the ‘innocent’ lives lost. For those in the Hosnian System. For those on the planets my armies took over and slaughtered.” He brought his eyes to Ben’s. “It was war, Ben. War means casualties. You either choose the right side and live or the wrong side and die. If you’re caught in-between, it means you do not have a functioning survival instinct. You must pick a side.”

Ben interrupted swiftly. “By that logic, you wouldn’t have agreed to tolerate me being here.”

“No,” countered Armitage, “you being here isn’t my point.”

“Remember ‘into the grey’? That’s not a side. That’s an in-between. By your logic, you have no survival instinct. If this were a war, you would have been dead. That’s what you just said.” Ben adamantly insisted. He drank from his glass then set it down as he stood and gestured about. “That’s being neutral, Armitage, and you agreed to it by agreeing to work with me. You’re being a hypocrite. You’ve chosen the grey in-between and you’ve accepted it.” Ben finished his drink as an act of punctuation. He hummed as he swallowed and continued, “So, answer my question. Do you feel guilty? Yes or no?”

“No. No, I don’t feel guilty.” Armitage lit his cigarette and held it between his fingers instead of smoking it right away. “Tell me this, Ben. Why do you keep asking me? Every week or so you ask me the same question and I give you the same roundabout answer. This is a tiresome dance. Why do you keep asking me if you know my opinion won’t change? And, you never answered my question. Not in a way to satisfy me, of course. How guilty do you feel right now?”

Ben’s teeth dragged along his lower lip as he pondered his answer. “—It’s something I’ll feel bad about for the rest of my life, I think.”

Armitage stood and stepped to Ben, holding the cigarette to him. “You don’t entirely seem saddled with guilt.”

The darker-haired man’s eyes traveled a straight line from the cigarette to Armitage’s eyes. He did not take it and let it smolder between the two of them. “It depends on the day. Or hour.” Ben seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. His eyes were slightly unfocused as he spoke. He wasn’t concentrating on Armitage’s face. “I feel differently on each day. Some days I don’t regret killing who I did. Other days, I don’t know how I’m going to handle thinking about it.” Another pause. “Rey talked about starting an Academy.”

Armitage bristled at the word ‘Academy’. “For Force-users?”

Ben nodded. Armitage took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled away from Ben’s face. Ben continued, “She talked about teaching future generations what Luke taught her and what we’ve both experienced. That being in the grey—“ He paused and watched Armitage look at him once more before continuing. “—isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Armitage stepped side to tap the ashes of his cigarette into the plate. The ashes were really piling up, now. He rolled his eyes at Ben’s words and smoked a bit more. He retorted, “I still don’t entirely agree.”

“You don’t have to agree. I’m not expecting you to.”

“Is that so?” Queried Armitage. He truly was surprised at the shift in perspective. “You were just poking holes in my logic a moment ago.”

“That’s just to poke holes in your logic and prove you wrong. It’s my favorite pastime, now.” Ben managed a one-sided, closed-mouthed smile.

The red-haired man’s eyes narrowed and he knocked against Ben’s shoulder with the hand holding the cigarette. “It’s always been your favorite pastime.”

Ben acknowledge the statement with a nod and a knowing smile. Armitage exhaled the last drag of his cigarette and stepped aside to dab it out then looked at Ben again. Something inside encouraged him to say, “You don’t have to feel guilty about what you did in the First Order.” Ben’s expression faltered at the words. The drop in mood was immediately detectable. “Yes,” he said, “I do.” His eyes blinked as he came to terms with Armitage’s words and looked aside to collect himself. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. We don’t agree.”

“Fine.” Armitage searched his own mind and said, “Off-limits.”

The words and the memory of its usage triggered Ben to smile again. Armitage found himself relieved at the return of the smile. It was akin to seeing the sun after weeks without it. He found himself mentally searching for ways to keep that smile. His hand reached forward to caress the other man’s cheek. Ben kept his eyes on Armitage as he leaned into it. He even turned his head and kissed Armitage’s hand; all while keeping their eyes locked. The gesture was utterly innocent. It touched the former general’s heart. He brought his hand down to take Ben’s and bring him back to the couch where he laid down then encouraged Ben to lay down as well. Ben sat on the couch and positioned himself so he laid comfortably between Armitage’s legs. The back of his head rested on Armitage’s chest. His long legs hung off the end of the couch.

It was quite the sight to see; two grown men laying on a couch not built to fit two grown men laying down. But to the two men in question, it was very nice.

Armitage’s left arm lazily rest around Ben’s neck and his hand went flat against his chest. His right hand was moving gently through Ben’s hair. He could feel Ben start to relax with every movement of his hand through the long strands of hair. Ben’s head even turned to the side and his eyes closed. Even Armitage’s eyes began to close but he kept them open and focused on the back of Ben’s head as well as his hairline. Ben’s chest rose and fell calmly while Armitage’s slim fingers massaged and scratched his hairline.

“Keep doing that,” Ben eventually mumbled, “and I’m going to fall asleep.”

“You already sound like you’re asleep,” Armitage pointed out. His fingertips moved to Ben’s face and cheekbone. He felt the muscles in Ben’s face lift as he smiled. His fingers trailed back up to Ben’s hairline and he resumed massaging his scalp. Time ticked by but neither of them kept track. Ben eventually shifted to lay his chest against Armitage’s and tuck his head into the man’s neck.

Unfortunately, the couch was certainly not made to accommodate how tall they both were. Ben’s legs dangled off awkwardly and Armitage had to readjust to make sure they were both comfortably laying on the couch. They muttered brief apologies or insistences for the other to shift so they could both be comfortable. Ben only laid on his chest for not even five minutes before they had to shift again. Armitage started to laugh and it caused Ben to as well. “This isn’t going to work here,” Ben commented. Armitage shook his head and began to sit up. Ben did as well and was the first to rise to his feet. He waited for Armitage to stand so they could walk together to the stairs. An LEP droid was entering as they left and they stepped aside so it could enter.

They went to Armitage’s room and Armitage began to undress to his underclothes. Ben did as well and left his clothes on the floor as he got into Armitage’s bed.

“No. Pick up your clothes.” Armitage was placing his own in the basket of dirty clothes. Ben had just sat on the bed and stared at his companion in silence as well as reluctance. Armitage gestured again. “You can’t leave them on the floor.”

Ben laid his body on the bed and covered his eyes with his arms.

“No you don’t.” Armitage gestured toward the clothes. “Pick them up.”

“Are you my mother?” Ben asked from behind his hands which were pressed against his face. Still, he did not move.

“Please do not ever bring that up in reference to me. Pick up your clothes, Ben.” Armitage walked to the bed and stood in front of Ben.

Ben uncovered his face and sat up on his elbows to look at him. He was not pleased at the repeated commands and extended his leg to gently kick Armitage’s shin. Armitage catch-stepped to recover. “You’re acting like a child. Pick up your clothes!”

“Why won’t you pick them up?” Ben was not helping the childish point. “Come on, come here.” He reached forward toward Armitage, extending his hand and fingers.

While the gesture in and of itself was nothing remarkable, there was something in regards to the look in Ben’s eyes that shifted his demeanor. It wasn’t until Armitage grasped the other man’s hand that he fully realized how the simple gesture could affect him. Ben’s features softened as he seemed to be recalling something. Armitage knew the look all too well. He didn’t have to be Force sensitive to understand what Ben was experiencing. Nevertheless, he didn’t push and did not bring it up. There were certain things better left unsaid between them. They didn’t need to know everything about each other’s lives. Armitage accepted the hand and stepped to the edge of the bed. He resisted when Ben’s hand tugged him forward in an attempt to get him to lay down. Instead, Armitage tugged Ben to a sitting position and settled his hands on his shoulders as if to steady the rising emotion he could sense in the younger man’s eyes. “You can’t leave your clothes on the floor.”

“I am. Right now.” Ben leaned his head a fraction to the right. “They’re staying there.”

“That’s disgusting,” Armitage countered. “It’s not your room where you can do anything you want with your clothes. It’s mine. And I’m telling you to pick up your clothes.”

“Or what? What will you make me do?” Ben questioned curiously. He touched his companion’s hips and thumbed at the waistband of his underclothes. His eyes remained watching the work of his fingers, neglecting to see how Armitage’s lips parted at the feeling of skin against sensitive skin. He could feel Ben’s touch against the outline of his hipbone.

In turn, Armitage brought his hands to Ben’s face and gently tilted his head upward. Ben acquiesced and gazed all-too fondly at the former general. It was still remarkable how young Ben could look and how gentle he was despite all he had lived through. Armitage would never be over it. He swiped his thumbs over Ben’s cheeks then stepped away to pick up the clothes and place them somewhat neatly where he’d placed his own clothes. Then he returned to the bed and got in beside Ben, who almost instantly maneuvered Armitage’s body so it was laying against his own. Armitage did not resist. He settled against Ben’s chest and gently rubbed his thumb over Ben’s shoulder and pectoral. Ben’s arm encircled his body and his head turned into his red hair. Their legs twined together under the sheets and they lay there together listening to the sounds of the rain outside and the ambience of nature as well as each other’s breathing.

* * *

Even as Armitage began to doze, he thought he felt Ben twitching. That wasn’t unusual; Ben was a rather active sleeper. This time, however, he could feel Ben’s head moving to and fro. As he was laying on the man’s chest, Armitage could also feel his breathing hitch and escalate slightly. He knew what Ben’s normal breathing was and it wasn’t this. Drowsily, he lifted his head and got a better look.

Ben’s eyes were open and he was conscious; that much Armitage knew for sure. He made a sound and knit his brows together as if he were suffering from a headache and trying something, anything really, for relief. Other than the uptick in his breathing and the moving of his head, Ben was relatively still. Or, at least, he was trying to stay relatively still. Armitage wondered if it was for his own sake that Ben was doing this.

Regardless, Armitage sat up and grasped Ben’s jaw to stop his head moving. Ben’s eyes grounded on Armitage’s face but instead of letting him touch him, the younger man pushed Armitage back. The former general did not fall off of the bed, thankfully, but he felt his hand grasp the edge of the mattress. Immediately, his mood shifted from wanting to help to wanting answers. “Ben,” snapped Armitage as he steadied himself on the mattress.

Even in the dark, he could see the unsettled look on Ben’s face. His brown eyes were not focused on Armitage but, rather, unseeing and elsewhere. Elsewhere and imagining what he had just seen. Even now, Armitage couldn’t quite define what Ben’s reaction was. He couldn’t understand anything beyond “unsettled” and “unnerved”. Perhaps another word that began with the prefix “un-, but Armitage couldn’t quite decide at the moment. He was too focused on how shaken Ben seemed. Still, yes, but shaken and unseeing. His shoulders were heaving as was his chest. His hand lifted to push through his hair, moving back the long strands of black from his face. Or was it brown? Armitage couldn’t quite remember. Regardless, the blackness seemed to swarm around Ben as he sat apart from him. In a way, they were isolated in all except location. Even still, Armitage had never felt further apart from Ben as he did now.

This wasn’t Armitage’s area of expertise. He didn’t know what to do. So he watched Ben calm his breathing and stare into the darkness of the bedroom. He, himself, shifted to fix the sheets and pillows Ben had disturbed. His own hair had been disheveled and fell over his eyes. It wasn’t long, no, but kept un-styled and un-coiffed then it would fall out of place. Ben had adopted a habit of purposefully brushing the former general’s hair out of place. It was something he hated but also something he secretly liked very much, though he would rather die than tell Ben that he liked it. Now, however, moving his own hand through his own hair was a poor replacement for Ben’s hand. The hand fell in his empty lap with nothing to occupy itself.

Ben continued to stare into the darkness and did not move a muscle for some time. Armitage dared not look at the clock but he swore he could hear the passage of time. It was _that_ quiet. It was almost unbearable. It was similar to the early days of Armitage’s exile where he had been left with nothing but his thoughts and the prison of his memories. It threatened to overwhelm him yet again. He feared this isolation, which began as a mere seed planted in his mind, would grow into something more tangible and real.

“Ben,” Armitage called out. He finally forced himself to look at the clock. It had been thirty-minutes since Ben had begun to twitch. It seemed to have been thirty days or even thirty-weeks. Ben did not reply nor did he acknowledge the voice. Again, Armitage called Ben’s name through the dark. It was as if he were extending a hand to help pull him from this darkness he was trapped within.

It was nearly five minutes exactly—Armitage checked—until Ben finally moved a muscle. The former Supreme Leader turned his head to look at Armitage then shifted his body to face him. With the dark, it was still difficult to see his face in its entirety. It was light enough to see the emptiness and something akin to dread on Ben’s face. It wasn’t dread, entirely; at least, Armitage wished it wasn’t. His mind worked to deny the fact dread was even a possibility. Ben was silent and wordless as he shifted his body across from Armitage and avoided his gaze. There was a mixture of shame amongst the dread. He seemed to hunch into himself. His spine curved and his head ducked in toward himself. It made him seem to be half the man he typically was height-wise. Armitage even considered how lean Ben seemed now in contrast to his typical bulk. It was a trick; an optical illusion and trick of the light. Ben had not physically changed yet it was as if Armitage could see the weight of whatever he had experienced crushing and sucking the life from Ben’s body.

When Ben shifted closer and began to fold in on himself, Armitage chose to sit up on his haunches and touch his face. Gently he encouraged Ben to lift his chin so they could see one another plain. Reality and light seemed to come closer to the edges of Ben’s eyes. They were still shrouded in darkness but the light was determined to make its return. Armitage spoke his name again: “ _Ben_.”

Ben said nothing in response but there was enough life left in his eyes to assure Armitage that he was listening and had heard him. Armitage’s thumb swiped across the other man’s cheekbone and under his eye. No tears, no wetness. Yet there was still the haunted look in Ben’s eyes. That was something Armitage didn’t think he would be able to remove from his memories. It was imprinted now and always would remain in the back of his head. Finally, Ben turned his head away and looked toward the clock. A brief look then he was back under the covers; only this time, he was facing away from Armitage.

The choice unlocked the worries Armitage had carefully stored away some time ago. He stared at Ben’s back and almost robotically laid down beside him. He rested on his own back with his face to the ceiling. Again, he swore he could hear the passage of time. Unbearable. All of it was unbearable. Sleep was not going to return to him as easily as it had come to him.

Eventually, there was movement beside Armitage and pressure on his chest and neck. He turned his head and saw Ben’s face had found its home in his neck. Half his body laid against Armitage and pressed against him as if finding refuge from the rain that had just begun to pick up outside. Ben’s mouth pressed against his companion’s throat and his arm moved around his body. In response, Armitage brought the sheets and blankets around the two of them and held Ben close to him with both his arms.

Even with the reassurance of Ben’s company and the now-calm nature of his breathing, Armitage went without sleep for the rest of the night. He let his thoughts spiral and the darkness become his dangerous bedfellow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	16. Chapter 16

Not much was said the following morning. Ben seemed to avoid Armitage as his stepmother had. While they occupied the same space and sometimes shared a few words, there was a noted shift in the way Ben addressed Armitage. It wasn’t entirely aggressive but, rather, uncommitted and unwilling to address him. Very much like Maratelle. The comparison stuck with Armitage enough through the day that it put him in a foul mood. He elected to keep his distance from Ben and chose to read in his office much as he had months ago. The choice was not an unconscious one; Armitage was fully aware of the choice he was making as well as how it paralleled his choices months ago.

At midafternoon, Armitage made the tentative decision to eat his midday meal in the ballroom. It was strange to walk on broken glass again after days and weeks of feeling nearly besotted. Besotted. That was a new word to describe how he had felt. It was a less committed, less vulnerable descriptive phrase and Armitage was somewhat okay with. It was easier to not think about the specificities. Now, however, he wasn’t so sure how he felt. The feeling of walking on glass returned as he cautiously made his way to the kitchens. The sound of rifling and movement that gave him pause. He pressed his back against the wall as if he feared he would be seen. In essence, that was his fear. But to call it a fear would give it power to consume him. Armitage wouldn’t permit it.

The rifling quieted and he looked into the kitchen. Nothing but a droid moving about. Armitage quietly ridiculed himself as he entered and began to prepare both his tea and the stew that barely sounded appetizing. Food didn’t sound particularly good right now but preparing actual meals instead of poor excuses for ones had become a habit thanks to Ben. There was much to thank Ben for but Armitage wasn’t going to make the first move now. If Ben wished to make reparations for his mood and behavior then it was _his_ duty to approach first.

When his tea and stew ready and in their respective cup and bowl, Armitage made his way upstairs toward the ballroom. At the top step he spotted X-3 pattering through the Hall. “X-3,” he called. The droid acknowledged him and waited in its place as the master crossed toward him. “Have you seen Ben today?”

“Master Solo, you mean?”

_Master Solo_. Armitage had been aware of how X-3 addressed Ben before but today it felt rather foul to hear it. “Yes,” he replied, rather crossly, “Master Solo.”

“I have, sir. He’s been in quite the state, if I can speak honestly.”

“You may. What sort of state has he been in?”

The droid shuffled to look from right to left. Armitage wondered if he feared to be overheard. Could droids fear as living beings could, he wondered? His reaction was to say no but his brain truly wondered.

X-3 said, “He has been very quiet but also angry. He spent nearly an hour in the ballroom for his breakfast and I heard something rather loud. Then he left the ballroom and went downstairs. I believe he is outside.”

His reply was measured and quiet. “What was the noise?”

X-3 turned his body toward the ballroom then back to Armitage. If the droid could look anxious, he absolutely would have. The human master’s arms crossed tightly over his chest as he awaited an answer from the droid turning back and forth as if the movement itself could decide the appropriate response.

Armitage asked again, “What was the noise?”

A pause and then, “He destroyed two of the chairs, sir.”

“Ben destroyed two chairs?” Armitage’s voice was almost dangerously calm. It was measured in a way that understated the emotion bubbling from a well underneath.

“Yes.”

“How destroyed are they?” More calm before the storm.

Whirring, X-3 said, “They are salvageable, yes, but I am not certain they are usable. You may try to repair them, Master Armitage, but they are quite old. I fear they are not able to be used even if repaired. My suggestion would be to—“

His hand raised to quiet the droid. “Where is Ben now?”

“Like I said, sir, I believe him to be outside. He did not tell me—“

But X-3 was not able to finish. Armitage was headed down the stairs. He stopped at the kitchen to put down the bowl and cup before he stalked outside in a fury.

The sky was downcast and there was no rain. It was likely it would fall later in the night. However, Armitage paid it no mind as he took long, quick strides to the edge of the woods where Ben certainly was. Indeed, he was there working with his lightsaber. He was executing brutally aggressive offensive moves; cutting through the air, stumps, and pieces of neglected timber. The air was quite cold but Ben was there in an undershirt and his black trousers as if the day was the hottest on record. There was something different about his method of attack today. There usually was a method to the brutality. This time, however, there was no method to Ben’s attacks. He was cutting and chopping as if he was butchering a disobedient, rebellious, and conquered group of beings. This wasn’t Ben Solo before him. Kylo Ren was here again. Armitage instantly felt the familiar anger seize him at the very thought of Kylo Ren resurrected. He stalked closer.

“You broke a chair!”

Ben did not stop to listen. He only drove the vibrating blue blade further into a stump and into the ground. He grunted in frustration as he unsheathed the blade from its post. The grass around the now eviscerated stump was burnt and dead. He kicked at the wood until it broke and splintered into burnt pieces. The lightsaber flipped between his fingers and he wiped back the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm. As he did so, the blade lingered dangerously close to his head and hair.

As Armitage drew nearer, he exclaimed again, “You _broke_ a _chair_!”

There was a scoff which came from Ben’s mouth. He was still facing away from Armitage but his voice could still be heard as he corrected the other man. “Two chairs.” The saber flipped between his fingers again and he turned around elaborately to aim a horizontal strike at the air. Armitage noticed how his muscles engaged and activated as he struck the nothingness of air.

The chill of the air permeated his clothing and caused Armitage to fold his arms tightly across his chest as if that would ward off the cold. “ _Two_ ,” he corrected bitterly. “My apologies. You broke two chairs. Two chairs, which, may I add, have been in this estate for quite some time and are quite _old_. Therefore, when you had your temper tantrum, you broke them beyond repair!”

“Are you done?” Ben asked at a louder decibel. He wasn’t yelling, no, but projecting his voice rather aggressively. “I’m in the middle of something.” The lightsaber was gripped in his hand and the blade was angled toward the ground. The tip began to singe the grass.

“Stop ruining the grass.”

“Fuck the grass.” Ben’s fingers dug and tapped onto the handle of the lightsaber restlessly. “I’m not going to apologize for breaking your chairs, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Armitage bristled from both the cold and rage. “You’re going to start with your tantrums again? I truly wasn’t missing those. And here I thought you’d grown out of destroying my belongings for your sick amusement. Do you realize what adults do, Ben? They talk about what is bothering them instead of causing destruction like a child.”

That was enough to motivate Ben to turn and look at Armitage with incredulity. “That’s rich coming from you, _general_. Also, you could try to mince words. Using grand words doesn’t make you sound any smarter or anymore right.” He disengaged the lightsaber and holstered it. Even as he did, his fingers twitched against the weapon.

“That’s ‘rich’? Enlighten me, Ben, why you think that way. Your method of communication isn’t effective. Do enlighten me as to why you’re right and I’m wrong. I would love to hear it.”

Ben said nothing but Armitage didn’t even wait for a response. He jumped in, “No, really, I would love to hear how you think your antics are going to solve anything. Such as, might I say, why you’ve been avoiding me all day and even now. How effective is that, hm?”

This time he did wait for Ben’s response. Armitage’s body shuddered from a chill as well as from the fury seizing his body. His arms tightened around himself and he began wishing he was inside near the fire. “What happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Ben. His voice and eyes were vacant. He looked beyond Armitage toward the estate. It loomed and leered at them through the mist that had begun to gather. The gray clouds only made its imposing stature appear bolder. It was something easy and grounding for Ben to settle on. “Nothing happened.”

“Was it some nightmare?” Armitage’s voice didn’t soften even as he asked. He needed direct and immediate answers. There wasn’t time to be soft. Softness got him nowhere when Ben was like this. That is what he told himself, at least. Just because he felt a sort of affection toward Ben didn’t mean he had to be soft or weak-willed. Ben said nothing in response. Armitage instructed, “Speak up.” He sounded like his father.

He realized this as soon as Ben’s eyes met his own. There was momentary surprise shared between the men and Ben’s defenses slipped for a moment. Only for a moment, however, for Ben was on the defensive again. “You don’t command me.”

“Someone has to control you,” came the cold retort.

Ben’s lips parted then he nodded. His teeth harshly clamped on the left side of his bottom lip and he clenched down until Armitage could see the spot grow visibly red. There likely was droplets of blood that had begun to bead to the surface. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ben was making himself bleed. He’d always thought the other to enjoy causing himself pain as punishment. In a way, it made them both kindred spirits. But that was a soft thought Armitage would not permit himself to dwell on.

Ben was still bitterly nodding as he said, “Control me. That’s what you’re trying to do, isn’t it? Like a dog.”

“A rabid cur? Is that how you would have me refer to my treatment of you? Like a dog on a chain? Oh, how the tables do turn Ben. How they do turn indeed, if you’re to be believed.” Armitage could not help the bitterness that seeped through into his speech. It spurred him on. “I’m trying to get a straightforward answer out of you and you are acting like a little boy!”

It was known that Ben wouldn’t stand for this scolding. Armitage would have been an idiot to not assume that. At this point, he felt he knew Ben better than anyone. But he had no strategies for confronting him with this. Softness and cooing were entirely out of the question. He needed to address Ben honestly and firmly like the grown man he was. Even still, despite the evident changes he had made, Ben did not seem ready to confront this reality. He didn’t seem able to react according to the way Armitage hoped he would. If anything, he seemed to be doing everything in his power to destroy the ideal image of Ben Solo Armitage had been crafting in his mind. He was dismantling it piece by piece and stone by stone.

He was glad the lightsaber was holstered and that Ben was beyond the point of harming him. Even still, Armitage could practically sense Ben’s impulse to use the Force in order to close off his airway or to throw him into a tree. At least, that is what he imagined Ben to be thinking. He had no idea, truly, and the paranoid thoughts of his former life were unearthing themselves. For a split second he wondered if Ben could hear these thoughts coming back to life.

If he could hear them, Ben made no outward acknowledgement. He shot back, “What do you want me to say? I had a nightmare. That’s it. You have nightmares.”

“I tell you about them if I do.” Armitage didn’t like mentioning this topic. It was one thing to point out Ben’s weaknesses but, he felt, it was another thing entirely to point out his own. He didn’t wish to dredge up the intrusive thoughts or visions of his past he would see when trying to rest his weary head and body at night. He never liked bringing it to Ben’s attention even if it lifted the weight off his chest by the end of their discussion. “This isn’t about me.”

“It **_is_** about you,” snarled Ben.

There was abject stillness as Ben’s words reached Armitage’s ears. He believed he had misheard the other man until he forced himself to reconcile with the truth. “What you saw was about me?”

It did make sense; Ben had seemed so shocked and had pulled away from him for some time until finally relenting and laying against him. He’d sought comfort in Armitage after some time. It only made sense. “What was it?”

Ben turned his head to the side. At his holster, his fingers twitched and fiddled with the handle of his lightsaber. Again, Armitage dangerously wondered if Ben would even consider using the Force or the weapon against him. Finally, Ben answered, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Solo, you’re going to tell me.”

“Or what, _general_?” The voice was both monotonous yet cold. Ben still did not look at him. “What will happen if I don’t?”

Truly, there wasn’t much Armitage could do. There wouldn’t have been much he could have done before, either, but now was extremely difficult. They couldn’t just revert back to how they had been almost a year ago. There was too much that had happened for them to simply go backwards. Something inside the former general urged him to fight it.

Armitage mentally shook off Ben’s words. “Will you explain to me now or later?”

That gave Ben great pause. Fraction-by-fraction, he turned his head to look at Armitage and almost examine him. Armitage lifted his chin defiantly and waited for the verbal response he desired—preferably an explanation.

But it couldn’t be that easy. It never could be that easy for Armitage. Ben only stared at him and said nothing either way. His silence, more often than not, denoted that he would not do what Armitage told him to do. His answer would never be one Armitage wanted.

“Fine.” Armitage took on a rather curt tone. His arms dropped to his sides. “I will be in my office or the library for the remainder of the day on the off-chance you wish to speak to me.”

* * *

He didn’t feel an ounce of regret or anxiety when he left Ben standing there. It wasn’t his business, he thought to himself, if Ben disclosed his worries or not. He shouldn’t be concerned about it. Ben was a grown man, after all, and could make his own decisions regarding what he spoke to Armitage about or what he chose to keep secret.

Then again, Armitage would be lying if it didn’t bother him at all.

The seeds were planted and had begun to take root as intrusive thoughts. Armitage kept them at bay for the next few hours. He had retrieved his meal and his tea and warmed them up again so he could pick at his stew and dwell on his thoughts over a warm beverage. His entire body felt warm again yet his thoughts turned to these colder matters.

His thoughts dwelled over the potential reasons Ben could have dreamt of him in such an isolating and concerning fashion. Would it have to do with his death? That thought was immediately dismissed. He didn’t think Ben would react so violently over such a dream. That was a weakness Ben Solo could not afford to succumb to. And if it was true, if Ben had dreamt of Hux’s death, then something had clearly shifted in their relationship.

A word appeared in his mind that he immediately forbade himself from thinking again. It plagued him constantly and Armitage had to remind himself that it was a weakness. Feeling such intimate feelings couldn’t be allowed. The very word that appeared in his mind could not be given life. It could not be given power. Such a word, if given enough power, could destroy entire worlds. It could bring down empires and even the most powerful men. It had been powerful enough to bring down Darth Vader, albeit on a more paternal level. No, Armitage would not give the word that chance to destroy everything he had built for himself over his entire lifetime. This empire would not collapse because of a single word.

With food filling his empty stomach and a second cup of tea brewed and steeping, Armitage returned to his work in his study. He had been sketching old designs for weapons and fleet ships from memory. His memory was not quite photogenic but there were particular designs he’d had a hand in creating over the years which stuck out. It would be a shame to lose such design feats to death or inevitable forgetfulness that came with advancing age. So, Armitage decided, it was his duty to log and save the design blueprints for future generations. He wasn’t sure what would happen when his own death inevitably came, but he did wish for some aspiring youth to stumble upon his blueprints or journals and make something of his work. Perhaps one day he would gain the courage and motivation to bring his work into town and sell it. There was always a market for weapons. Technology would always be advancing and regimes would rise as well as fall. If Armitage could not have the First Order, that didn’t mean future generations couldn’t have the legacy that is his designs.

It was true that the designs weren’t entirely his idea. He’d collaborated with other engineers and experts to create the most effective weapons and ships for the First Order. Armitage found himself reflecting on this as he recalled the various faces he’d held meetings with over his tenure as general of the First Order. Where were they now, he wondered. Certainly many of them were dead as many of them had been engineers in the corps on First Order ships. They had most certainly perished and were nothing but ash. The other engineers, too, who did not live and work on the ships most certainly found themselves without much work now. He wondered if this New Republic would punish them. Then again, they were engineers affiliated with independent weapons companies. They had no loyalty except to war. As far as Armitage knew, they could have worked with the Resistance. Then again, he’d paid them a hefty sum to ensure their loyalties. The First Order had forged many close working relationships with weapons companies and contractors to ensure their loyalties and patronage. He’d been insistent on that, even when those of his father’s generation had called him a fool for doing so. They had said it had been a waste of money. But, as Armitage knew quite well from experience, money bought loyalty. The First Order had more money than the Resistance, especially after the Hosnian System had been annihilated.

As he sketched the plans from memory and wrote down notes, Armitage found the stress from the day’s events lift off his chest. Even if it was for the time being, he appreciated that he had a new goal to strive toward. Armitage found himself eager to finish the detailed work and make it the most accurate depictions of First Order technology he was able to recall. The future generations could use this. They had to use this. Armitage Hux wouldn’t go quietly into the footnotes of history. He would leave something behind. This was a legacy he could be proud of. His word was his flesh and blood. No child of his own blood could ever make him proud the way his work could. One day, years into the future, maybe a second Starkiller Base could be created and Armitage’s goals could truly come to fruition. His life’s work wouldn’t be lost to the ages. It would be fulfilled. It would make his lifetime of suffering worth it.

His brain latched onto another idea which was keeping a journal that detailed his life’s struggles. That was another goal to strive toward. He would give advice and outline detailed instructions as to how a successful regime would conquer and rule the galaxy. Only after following his instructions could true balance be found and only then could peace reign supreme. It gave him great pleasure to imagine such a future, yet also sorrow. Armitage knew he would not live long enough to see it. It was how such matters occurred, after all. Not all geniuses were able to live long enough to see the fruits of their labor. His only solace was that this future would be possible thanks to the work he would be leaving behind. One day, he would gain the courage to go to town and scout out potential buyers. The Republic may reign supreme now, but that was apt to change. It always did. The scales would tip but this time, they would not tip back to the Republic. They would overwhelmingly fall into Armitage’s favor and he would ensure it.

These thoughts occupied him until there was the sound of his door opening. His initial thought and hope was that it was Ben come to apologize and to explain. Instead, it was an LEP droid that was tidying up the area and checking for any domestic tasks it could accomplish. Armitage nearly slumped in his seat in disappointment but he partly ignored the droid until more movement distracted him from his papers. This time it was Ben. The dark, looming figure of the other man lingered by the door then moved past. Armitage knew Ben was checking on him and not that he had made the decision to explain himself. The petty part of his brain smugly thought that it was good that Ben did not bother him. This petty part also scolded and taunting Ben for being so immature as to not approach Armitage and speak with him. It was a rather immature section of his mind but Armitage also felt too bitter and jaded to scold himself for it. His emotions were running high and the fact Ben was acting like a child again forced him back into old thought patterns and habits he had adopted from their first meeting over half a decade ago.

The LEP droid left but X-3 was in almost immediately after, much to Armitage’s chagrin. “What is it, X-3?” He asked, gathering his papers together in a neat manner.

“What are we to do with the chairs, sir?”

“What do you mean ‘what are we supposed to do’? Throw out the pieces, X-3. Use them as kindling, actually. There’s some use in them.” Armitage checked his papers to make sure not a one was out of place. He would have to get something to bind them together if he wished to keep them so neatly organized. There must be a place in town that bound books or pages together. He also needed a journal or a blank book. Something with a fine cover so that, when it was discovered or bought, it would provoke intrigue and interest as well as—

“What about the cushioning on it? There was fabric cushioning on the seating, Master Armitage.” Came X-3’s voice. “Shall we burn that, too, or reuse it?”

“ **Reuse**?” Armitage lifted his eyes and aimed a glare at the droid. “Get rid of it. There’s no use for it. Get rid of it either in the fire or the rubbish. Use the wood of the chairs as kindling. That’s an order, X-3.”

The droid whirred and moved its head to and fro as it absorbed its master’s information. “What are you doing, sir? Working on, that is.”

“If I wanted you to know, I would tell you.” Then Armitage reconsidered. “It’s design plans. I’m keeping a log on weapons and other designs I had created for the First Order.”

X-3 moved closer to the desk. Armitage’s spine elongated and he arched a brow at the droid. It stopped directly in front of him. “What will you do with these designs, Master Armitage?”

“That, X-3,” began Armitage, “remains to be seen.” He opened a drawer and put the papers inside. He tapped the drawer shut then tapped it again for good measure. “I have plans for these. They won’t be here to gather dust or disintegrate. They won’t be forgotten like my father’s work. Someone will create something great thanks to my work. The galaxy will change because of it. You will see.”

There was the unmistakable scoff and clapping of hands from the doorway. Both Armitage and X-3 faced the noise and discovered it was Ben Solo lingering by the door. So he hadn’t left for his room. Here he was keeping silent vigil over Armitage in his office; lurking in the shadows like an untrustworthy spy. The irony was not lost on the former general. He thought he felt phantom pains in his abdomen where he had been mortally shot.

“You think that? Really?” Ben sounded rather amused this time. It so reminded Armitage of their younger years where they had constantly tried to undermine the other in front of Snoke or covertly in meetings with various councils. “You really haven’t changed, Armitage. You’re still the same.”

“Yes, well, one is set in their habits once they reach adulthood. Remarkably, even if childish behaviors can become adult habits. I’m certain you’re familiar with that, Ben,” Armitage shot back.

He detected a forced smile from Ben in response. Ben’s arms were tightly folded across his chest. He hadn’t changed from his undershirt and black trousers. The lightsaber still dangled from his holster. There was a cockiness and somewhat uneven energy about him. It reminded Armitage of the older men in the First Order who had worked with his father. They all had been cocky sons-of-bitches as they had thought they were better than him and could usurp him the moment he showed weakness. He wondered if Ben was trying to find a weakness.

“Who’s being childish now?” Ben’s side and hip leaned against the doorframe. Armitage’s façade faltered at the comment. The muscles on the right side of his face twitched. It only encouraged Ben’s smirk.

X-3 looked between the two men then chose to shuffle his way out. Ben shifted to let the droid out and walked inside once he was given room, closing the door behind him. Armitage sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, pressing them against his mouth as he watched Ben stand before him. It made him think about the times he had stood in front of his father in a similar locale to this. This time, however, Armitage was supposed to be the one holding some sort of power.

The two men engaged in a stare-down until Armitage elected to be the one to break the tension. “Have you come to speak truthfully and honestly about what happened last night?”

Ben’s fingers twitched again by his lightsaber. “No.”

“Will you admit that something was bothering you?” Armitage’s keen eye observed more twitching. A nervous habit which was becoming more and more established with each question he asked. Ben said nothing to that so Armitage repeated, “Will you admit that something was bothering you?”

It seemed nearly an eternity before Armitage received his answer. “—I did see something. It wasn’t expected.”

What wasn’t expected was the vulnerability in Ben’s voice. He’d seen Ben vulnerable, yes, but not like this. There was a pain which shifted from his eyes to the rest of his face. Even his feet shifted weight. Even though Armitage couldn’t see Ben’s feet directly, he could tell by the way his hips shifted. His eyes lifted, again, toward Ben’s face and he queried, “Are you able to tell me anything about what you saw?”

“No.” That was a firm response from Ben. There wouldn’t be getting any more specific answers.

There was a point where one had to stop chipping away at the walls Ben Solo put up. Armitage was learning each time when to stop. It was never the same each time. He was able to penetrate different layers at different times. It seemed, currently, Armitage wouldn’t be able to pierce through any deeper than a second layer. He would have to be satisfied with that, even if it didn’t entirely settle right with him.

His hands settled, closed together, on his desk. Armitage leaned forward and rationed out his words both mentally and verbally. “Fine, don’t tell me. But understand that I will not tolerate your antics anymore. We are not on the _Finalizer_ nor the _Supremacy_. You are in **_my_** house. You will respect my possessions.” He raised a finger as if to stop any retort from Ben, though that currently wasn’t the case. “I don’t want to hear your disagreements. I don’t care that you share my bed or that I share yours. That does not matter. This is **_my_** house now. You will respect me and this estate or I will send you out. Is that clear?”

Ben was quite still as Armitage spoke. His expression was stony but he did not show any sign of protestation. It was reassuring how respectful he was being. It didn’t even appear that Ben was partly listening. Instead, he nodded in response and said, “Yes,” to show active listening.

It still wasn’t enough for Armitage. “You will make two new chairs for the ballroom. They must be in the style of the table and the remaining chairs. Is that clear?”

The muscles in Ben’s face twitched again. “Very clear.”

To say Armitage was pleased by Ben’s response was an understatement. He was so pleased that he disregarded the still-present unease on Ben’s face. It didn’t register in his brain at all, not even when he stood and walked around the desk to stand before Ben. Armitage was basking in his own pleasure and touched Ben’s face with one hand but did not do anything other than that.

“I expect them by tomorrow evening. Twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, _general_.”

He did like when Ben called him that. Armitage liked it very much indeed. So much so that his hand pushed to stroke through the man’s long, dark hair and move it behind his ear. Ben’s expression was unfaltering throughout the affectionate touches. Still, Armitage was blind to it. Or he chose to be blind to it. Just as soon as he’d touched Ben’s face, Armitage dropped his hand and leaned his hips back against his desk. He didn’t dare sit on top of it; it wasn’t proper for this moment. His arms crossed over his chest and he said, “Will you stop avoiding me?”

The fond gesture had been enough to melt Ben’s unease by a fraction, but only by a fraction. It melted enough so Armitage had the assurance to extend his hand toward Ben as if presenting him with a ring to kiss. The idea was rather tempting to dwell upon but it would have distracted him from Ben taking his hand. There had been a marked hesitation but, yet again, the red-haired man was too blinded by his own smugness to acknowledge it. As far as he thought, Ben had agreed to the unanswered question. As far as Armitage was certain, Ben would stop avoiding him. It was only right for him to assume thus. He leaned in to press his mouth against the corner of Ben’s. His companion’s head fractionally turned toward the kiss but it wasn’t enough to turn it into a proper one. That very fact caused a moment of disappointment for Armitage and he gave Ben a cross look. His hand went to the base of Ben’s throat while his thumb tipped his chin upward. The gesture caused Ben’s brows to raise and his pupils to dilate only by a fraction. It pleased the former general greatly.

“Kiss me,” he said.

“Why?” Ben’s eyes were still on him.

Armitage pressed his thumb into Ben’s chin even more until he felt the bone through the skin. He felt Ben swallowed and adjusted his jaw under his thumb. “Because you want to,” replied Armitage.

“You think I want to kiss you right now?” Ben asked with calculated defiance. “When you’re practically strangling me.”

“Would you like it if I did?” As if to test the theory, his fingers pressed against the side of Ben’s neck. As soon as he did, Armitage felt pressure against his head and inside his brain. He aimed a cross look at Ben and relented. His thumb, too, relented its pressure against Ben’s chin and Ben was able to rest his head at neutral. “No,” Armitage said as they looked at each other on even plane, “I suppose not.”

His hands came to rest against the desk he was leaning against. Armitage filled his lungs with air then expelled said air evenly. “I’m not strangling you anymore,” he pointed out.”

“An astute observation, Armitage.” There was the familiar cockiness in Ben’s voice. It was fonder in tone. It caused the red-haired man to relax marginally. His guarded walls began to come down at this verbal reassurance.

“What will you do about it, then? Consider my order?”

“You’re getting awfully comfortable with calling that an order.” Ben stepped closer and pointed out, “You’re not a general anymore.”

Armitage knew that all too well. He didn’t need Ben to shove it in his face. He scowled. “You’re not a Supreme Leader anymore. Nor are you a Knight of Ren.”

Ben’s teeth clenched the inside of his own lower lip and he nodded again as he had before. “Just making sure you knew.”

“As am I. Making sure you know your place as, as you say, I know mine.” A new thought took hold. “—Yet I do hold command over this house. You stay here at my pleasure. Certainly, at **_my_** pleasure. And my current pleasure is that you kiss me and that you wish to kiss me.”

That was as much vulnerability as Armitage was willing to dispose at the moment. He kept his face rather composed and authoritative while he felt starkly different on the inside. He worked to suppress it so that not even an intrusion in his mind could detect it. Ben only knew, Armitage theorized, what Armitage permitted him to hear. He would not permit him to hear the deepest aching of his heart and spirit; an aching that Armitage himself wasn’t ready to hear or acknowledge.

Ben watched him closely then remarked, “Later, perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” That was a loaded word. Armitage used it often enough that he knew the weight it held. He didn’t like the manner in which Ben was using it. He did not like how his words were being used against him. He knew Ben understood that all too well. It was the reason he was using the word now.

“That’s what I said. I have things to do. Like make you your chairs.” Ben stepped back four steps then turned to leave the office. “And you have to finish your legacy, don’t you?”

Armitage didn’t like the way Ben said those words. His reassurance was all but gone, now. How easy it was for such feelings to slip through his fingers. He scolded himself for the lapse in judgement. “Fine,” he managed, “go. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Ben touched the doorframe then left the room. Armitage could hear his footsteps go toward the stairs then echoing as he walked down to the second floor. He found himself using his right thumb to crack the knuckles on his right hand then repeated the gesture with his left side. He then knocked his closed left fist against the desk four times before he walked back around to sit down. He pulled out his papers and stared at them as he willed himself to continue working. Now, however, his brain was distracted. Unease spread through him as he reflected on his and Ben’s conversation in abject confusion. Once again, Armitage put his papers in his drawer and shut it, leaving thoughts of the future for another time and choosing to focus on present worries.

Armitage knew Ben would be downstairs, in one of the basement rooms. An hour after Ben had left, he’d found the Force user there. Armitage was only glad it wasn’t the particular room he’d had locked and wished to remain closed. At least he could trust Ben to not disobey him in this manner. There were certain doors that were best left unopened, no matter how much time had passed.

* * *

Ben had been working in the room where they often serviced the LEP droids. This time, instead of mechanical tools, he was at work with tools more suited for woodwork. Armitage took note of the lightsaber on the ground next to a partly constructed chair. It still looked rather crude. There was much work left to be done before Armitage would be satisfied, but at least Ben was actually taking Armitage’s words to heart. The red-haired man took note of the fact a spare ballroom chair was in the corner of the room. Ben must have been using it as a model.

In Armitage’s hand was a glass of water. He didn’t wait to be acknowledged even though he knew Ben was aware of his presence. He stepped toward where Ben was knelt and placed the glass in front of Ben’s left bended knee. Ben turned his head to the side to look at Armitage as well as the glass of water. He leaned back, putting down a tool, and took the water up to his mouth. After swallowing a few mouthfuls of water, he nodded and set it down. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Armitage stepped in a circle around Ben and the chair to get a full picture of the work in progress. “There’s a cushion on the seat.”

“I know,” Ben replied, his eyes going back on his work. “I’ll have to go into town next week to get what I need.”

“—Next week? I want these done by tomorrow. I told you that, remember?”

“I can’t go tomorrow. Next week I’ll have it officially done.” Ben pushed his hair back and continued, “Can’t you use a pillow? You have many.”

Armitage stopped walking and corrected, “I don’t have **_many_**. I would like the chairs done by tomorrow.”

“Well, Armitage, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not going until next week.” Ben’s voice was immediately frustrated and on the defensive. He didn’t even look at Armitage as he spoke. He was more intent on working. It kept him busy and not fidgeting in the obvious sense of the word.

The red-haired man stared down at his companion with mounting suspicion. “Then I’ll go.”

“No, no, you won’t, Armitage.” This time, Ben looked up at Armitage and his expression was hardened. He set the tools down and pushed his hair back off his face again. “You can hold off on your damn chairs for another week. You have four others of the same kind. Use those. Why can’t you just use those?”

“Why can’t you get this simple task done by tomorrow night?” Countered Armitage. His tone was growing more aggressive. “Why can’t I go myself?”

“Because you can’t, Armitage, so stop arguing with me!”

He was more than aghast. Armitage couldn’t think of a word greater than aghast to describe his reaction. “Get up,” he commanded. “Right now.”

To his surprise, Ben did stand. He wiped his hands on his trousers and faced Armitage. He shrugged and asked, “What?”

“You don’t command **_me_** ,” Armitage snapped.

Ben scoffed and responded harshly, “And you don’t command me. I’m not going into town. Conversation over.”

“The conversation is **_not_** over, Ben. We will speak about this like men! Now, tell me why you cannot do a simple task that I have outlined for you.”

“Because I said I won’t do it tomorrow I’ll do it next week. You won’t go into town, either,” Ben shot back. He fussed with his hair again and exclaimed, “Can’t you just shut your mouth and listen to me for once, Armitage? For once, you’re not always right and your way isn’t the best way. Will you listen to anyone other than yourself?!”

Armitage’s jaw clenched. The flames of anger were stoked, but not enough for him to completely dismiss Ben’s words as he would have done before. He was in too deep with Ben to dismiss him entirely. He watched Ben fuss with his hair and grip at his head as he clearly did battle with his thoughts. He didn’t need to read minds to see that Ben was struggling with whatever he had seen last night in his sleep. Part of him wished to reach out, but Armitage quickly recalled how Ben had pushed him away last night. His hand, desperate to extend to Ben, remained still by his side.

Ben, filled to the brim with frantic energy, forced his right hand down and backward. The crudely constructed excuse for a chair collapsed into pieces. Luckily it was pieces instead of shards like the wood outside near the woods. It would be simple to reassemble. Even still, the fact Ben had so violently dismantled his work was enough for Armitage to keep his silence. His body tensed and he warily watched the man in front of him. Ben pushed his hands over his face and silently fretted. For a brief moment, he squatted toward the ground and leaned over himself.

When Ben stood up again, he was more composed. But that composure seemed weak as Ben stepped to Armitage and kissed him suddenly, taking the elder man by surprise. He did not kiss back and remained still. Through the kiss, he could practically taste Ben’s emotions on his lips. It tasted fearful and frantic. He did not close his eyes and remained staring in shocked awe at Ben as the man pulled away. Ben’s eyes were filled to the brim with a fear and panic that Armitage hadn’t seen in quite some time. The composure was a façade, as the eyes were always a window to the soul.

“Listen to me this once,” Ben instructed in an almost pleading tone. He held Armitage’s face in his hands. “Tell me you’ll listen to me.”

Armitage didn’t have to be influenced by the Force to say, “I’ll listen to you.” Though he was more than certain Ben wanted to ensure the promise was met by using the Force. The elder man waited for this possibility but it never came, thankfully.

He wasn’t certain how Ben would take his words but it seemed he took them well. It seemed a verbal confirmation, however non-committal it might be, was enough for Ben. Ben dropped his hands to Armitage’s shoulders then to his arms and finally to his hands. Their hands squeezed together and Armitage mustered a reassuring smile. Ben asked, “Is that a promise?”

“It is a promise,” Armitage confirmed.

_For now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Looking forward to reading your comments and reactions below. 
> 
> Tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	17. Chapter 17

“Is your head still hurting?”

Armitage’s brows further scrunched at Ben’s question. He leaned his head forward into his hand. “Yes,” he replied, closing his eyes rather tightly, “I think it’s because of the storm. It will pass soon.”

His head had begun to hurt during dinner, a mere two hours after he had weakly promised Ben he would listen. Armitage had thought it was due to stress rather than an incoming storm. It wouldn’t have made sense if it was from a storm as he’d lived there for a year and had never felt a pressure headache because of it. In his entire thirty-six years, Armitage had never had headaches due to a change in pressure. The years of living on various Star Destroyers and frequent visits to planets of varying air pressures rendered him rather immune to such weaknesses as pressure headaches.

Stress headaches, yes. Caffeine headaches, certainly. Pressure headaches due to oncoming storms? Never.

He wondered if Ben was aware of that. He’d never mentioned it to the man in all their time knowing each other. Ben seemed genuinely concerned now, albeit wary of the former general. Despite Armitage making the promise, he knew Ben wasn’t naïve enough to fully believe him. There was part of Ben that was always a skeptic when it came to Armitage. Ben tended to float between being a fervent believer and a stubborn skeptic. It seemed to be his life view. Armitage considered himself a critical thinker and a skeptic on matters that strayed from the certainties of science. Human interaction wasn’t as certain as science. Words, truly, were the most unreliable of all data. Ben would be foolish to put his faith in Armitage’s promise. Skepticism, in this case, was healthy.

Regardless of what Ben was truly thinking, he seemed concerned as to Armitage’s duress. They were in the library now and had been silently reading and practicing calligraphy, respectively, until Armitage had set his book aside and made comments on his present headache. Now it seemed to be getting worse and contributing to the pit of nausea in his stomach as well as the taste of copper on his tongue. This was alarming to Armitage, who had hardly felt such feelings of nausea since he and Ben had become intimate both in spoken word and physical act. He had set his book aside and leaned over himself with both hands covering his face. His fingertips pressed at his temples and his forehead in an attempt to soothe the major points of tension.

Armitage forced himself to swallow down the copper taste in his mouth and found his mouth salivating in an unexpected manner. He didn’t like this sort of salivating. It wasn’t salivating over a warm meal. It wasn’t the sort of salivating he liked. It made his stomach twist and turn into knots that seemed to be unbreakable. Cool air traveled up through his nose and filled his lungs, almost stinging with how cool it was. Armitage resisted the urge to cough. He didn’t need an offhanded comment by Ben on how he wouldn’t cough so easily if he didn’t smoke. He didn’t think Ben entirely cared that he smoked; he’d never commented on it before. Armitage preferred to think that Ben scolded him on smoking to get a rise out of him.

Thankfully, Ben wasn’t trying to get a rise out of him now. He stood from his desk and left his work to be at Armitage’s side, sitting on the couch beside him. While he was grateful for the show of concern, Armitage felt the urge to shift away from Ben and insist, “No, it’s fine.”

“You look like you’re going to be sick,” Ben pointed out. The rich color of his voice felt like a covering over Armitage’s shoulders. Even still, he resisted the generosity.

“I’m not going to be sick. It will pass, Ben.” Armitage’s hands rubbed over his face and he continued pressing at his temple and the concentrated points of pressure. He could feel Ben’s presence lingering and said, “I don’t need anything. Just to breathe.” Then he turned his head to notice Ben’s tentative expression. There was wariness, too. Definite wariness. It was a caution Armitage had last seen when Ben had initially arrived.

Ben’s back leaned against the cushions of the couch and he seemed to cave in on himself. Ink-stained hands rest open toward his own face and Ben’s brown eyes fixed on the stains rather than Armitage. Not that Armitage was looking at him anymore. He even rose to his feet and walked toward the fire, leaving Ben there. The brightness of the flames hurt his eyes so he shut them, cutting himself off from the world for a moment. He treasured this moment. Armitage breathed in and out in a few cycles of calming breathing. He willed the headache and nausea to go away as he leaned his hand against the mantle above the fireplace.

“I can help that go away, you know.” Ben’s voice interrupted Armitage’s breath cycles, much to the latter’s chagrin.

“I don’t want your help.” The words were harsher than intended but the pain in his head and the acidic pit in his esophagus angered Armitage greatly.

Even though his eyes were closed, Armitage could imagine Ben’s expression turning into one of irritation and frustration. He pushed off the mantle and went to pick his book up from the couch. Ben looked up at him but did not move from his caved-in positon.

Armitage mumbled, “I’m going to take a bath,” before walking out of the room and sliding past X-3, who was making his way inside. He managed a “Good evening” to the droid before he went to the stairs and up to his room.

He prepared the warm bath and grabbed a small tan washcloth. After removing his clothes, Armitage slid inside and rest his head against the rim of the tub. The warm water soothed his cold and aching body. He soaked the washcloth in the water then rung it out before laying it over his eyes and his forehead. A satisfied sigh left his mouth as he immediately felt the warmth soothing the pounding pressure in his head. Armitage shut his eyes and gave in fully to the bath. He allowed the steam to permeate his pores and relax his aching body. He hadn’t realized that stress could manifest in sore and tight muscles until now. It was a task to force his body to relax in the bath. He wanted nothing more than to tense up but more tensing would add to the overwhelming stress coursing through his body. So Armitage took up more breathing cycles to force fresh air through his system then out through his mouth. It worked. Bit by bit, he relaxed into the water and surrendered himself to it.

At one point, his head tilted to the side and Armitage felt his hands and fingers lose their tension. Even his jaw went slack. The darkness provided by his closed eyes were filled with manifestations of his own thoughts; of the rain outside, the border of the woods, the estate from the view walking up the drive, and finally Ben sitting up in bed. The silhouette of Ben Solo hunched over himself and recovering from whatever he had seen in his dreams. Dreams were always uncertain. Armitage, at one point in his life, had come to fear dreams and did anything possible to avoid them. At the age of nine, he had stayed up for three days straight which had resulted in him passing out upon reaching his room and being found by a droid and a furious Rae Sloane.

Rae Sloane. His thoughts dared stray to her. He hadn’t heard from her in nearly twelve years. As far as Armitage was concerned, she was better off dead. It was easier to think of her dead rather than alive and somewhere in the galaxy just waiting to return into his life. Much as Ben had done. Armitage wondered how he would react if Rae appeared at his front door. She would be in her sixties now. He wondered if her hair had grayed beyond the streak in her hair. He’d fixated on it nearly obsessively as a boy without much insight as to why. It had mainly been kept underneath her cap but he’d still clued in on it.

Kindness was a generous descriptor of how she had behaved toward him as a youth. She’d been stern, yes, and certainly hard on him. She had known of his potential and strived to see him fulfill it. Rae had never been too soft toward him. She had never fawned over him or coddled him. Instead, she had respected him. She had mentored him and, in many ways, he owed all he had achieved in a short amount of time to her lessons and guidance; whether she knew she had done it or not. Armitage wondered now if Rae had understood what he would become. It would be a lie to say he didn’t think of her fondly and wonder after her well-being. But, in the First Order, such mentioning of Rae Sloane was met with rebuttals and insistences not to mention her. Even still, his thoughts were safe. If a moment came, he spared a thought for her. She was worthy of it. Rae Sloane was one of a select few Armitage respected above himself.

She had been concerned as to his well-being and health, especially after the day he had passed out on his floor and been diagnosed with a mild concussion and malnourishment. Before leaving the medical bay, he’d been visited by his father. That had been the shock of his life until he’d seen Rae lingering outside his room upon his departure. As an adolescent and young adult, he’d grown to realize that many of his father’s “kind” actions had been the result of Rae Sloane’s interference. These realizations only aided his fondness’s growth. He wondered what she would think of him now; if she would be disappointed or proud of what he had accomplished.

Rae’s image disappeared in his mind’s eyes and one of the estate grounds appeared. He could see the stubby yet scrawny legs of a little boy running over the grass and even hear the beating of his heart. The redness of his hair stood out against the greenery and the brown earth as he ran through to the wood. There had been no fear of the wild but, instead, fear of the man he called father. Then the image changed. He was no longer a boy but the man he was now. He reached the edge of the lake and saw Ben Solo. But beside Ben, he saw something else. The image of a woman. It was blurred and distorted but he couldn’t mistake the auburn shade of her hair. He got the sense of her grief and her sorrow as her image faced him. Even though he could not see her clearly, her emotions hit him like a blaster to the chest. Ben’s face, too, was full of sorrow.

Then Armitage was forced away from the sight and the blackness took over again. He was suddenly somewhere cold and dank. His back was pressed against a sharp corner and he felt his heart beating out of his chest. Then there was pressure. It mounted again and again as it pressed down into his ribs and his lungs. Armitage swore he could feel them cracking. He heard the sharp cracking of something akin to a whip but so much more daunting than that, if it was even possible. The fear seized him.

Then there was the door. The door and echoing behind it. Screaming. Screaming that sounded both feminine and not. Pleading to stop. Pleading to end it. Pleading to open the door and to unlock it. Pleading to---

“Armitage!”

A gasp seized his body and Armitage startled. The water sloshed over the side of the tub as he sat up and the cloth fell from his eyes. His heart was rapidly beating and the nausea was back. His head sharply turned to his right and he looked upward. It was Ben. Ben stood there with widened eyes and an outstretched hand that seemed as if it was about to touch him. Now he stood frozen to his spot as Armitage recovered from what he had just seen.

Instantly, suspicion overtook him. “What the hell was that?”

Ben seemed confused but he didn’t entirely frame it that way. “What did you see?”

That garnered suspicion. “How did you---?”

“You always twitch in your sleep when you dream,” Ben explained. There was alarm in his voice he was attempting to keep down. “You were twitching pretty badly, this time.”

Armitage twisted his body to look at Ben. Water dripped down his face and off his eyelashes. “What are you doing in here?”

“You’ve been in here an hour.”

An hour had passed? Armitage’s fingers rubbed together and he looked at them. Sure enough, they were pruned and wrinkled. His nose twitched at the realization and he continued rubbing the tips of his fingers together as if he could smooth out the wrinkles. “Think I drowned?” He asked absently.

Ben’s arms went by his side as if weighted down. “No. I could still feel you.”

“Feel me?” Armitage pondered for a moment. Ah, yes, the Force. That must have been how Ben felt him.

He put his hand back in the bath and looked at the water. It was lukewarm now and not as relaxing to be in as it had an hour ago. A quick scan of his body showed that his headache had gone down marginally but he still felt nauseated. How disappointing.

“Grab a towel for me,” Armitage said, pointing to Ben’s left. The man found a towel and handed it to Armitage as he stood and got out of the bath, standing on the padded mat right outside of the bath. His feet dried off as much as they could as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Now,” he said, finally focusing on Ben, “why are you here?”

He could have phrased the question a bit kinder. There was hurt which was evident and Armitage wondered if he should apologize. Instead of doing so verbally, he reached to touch Ben’s forearm with his fingertips in apology.

Ben didn’t seem to react either way. He continued, “Are you going to bed?”

“Soon enough, yes.”

“In here or in my room?”

Armitage looked appalled. “In here, of course. Where else?”

That was enough to draw a physical reaction from Ben. “What does that mean?”

Armitage stepped past Ben and to the sink so he could brush and clean his teeth. “It means what it means. It’s my room, Ben, and I can sleep here when I wish to. And tonight I wish to.”

Ben remained silent as Armitage cleaned his teeth. When he finished rinsing his mouth, Armitage dried his hands on a hand towel and stepped into his bedroom. “Drain the bath, will you?” He changed into a fresh pair of undergarments and put the towel in a basket of dirtied linens and towels that he would have to clean himself tomorrow. The basket was rather full as it was. As soon as he changed, he witnessed Ben coming out and starting to remove his clothes.

Armitage slowly sat down on the bed and watched him go down to his undergarments. Ben removed his undershirt and folded his clothes before placing them on Armitage’s bureau. He hesitated before he walked to the other side of the bed and moved in between the covers. He laid on his back and let out a sigh, which Armitage keyed into as he still sat upright at the edge of the bed and faced away from Ben. His thoughts were distracted by all he had dreamed about. Desperately he clung onto the fleeting images in an attempt not to forget them and to decipher some sort of meaning. There was no logical path from image to image; at least no decipherable one which he could come up with at the moment. Even still, there was something that was churning the nausea in his stomach. Something about the collection of all those images which made him feel sicker than he had felt an hour prior.

Ben’s fingers on his back broke him from this torturous thought cycle. Turning his head over his shoulder, he spotted the other’s turned head and concerned expression. Ben said nothing with his mouth but he said much more with his deep brown eyes.

Acquiescing to the first of the unsaid questions, Armitage moved under the covers and laid on his back instead of facing Ben. That spoke volumes. Ben’s hand retracted though his head remained turned to Armitage. It was impossible to remove the sight of Ben’s concerned face from his peripheral vision. Armitage looked toward the ceiling as if it would grant him some sort of answer. Today it did not seem to be the case he would find the solution to life’s problems on the ceiling.

“Good night, then,” he said to Ben.

Ben did not respond. Instead, he turned on his side and tugged the blankets toward his own body. He tended to do this until he was in a cocoon of blankets. More often than not, Armitage found himself in the cocoon with Ben and woke up feeling rather warm. Tonight, he would not find himself in such a position.

Sleep did not come until five hours after Ben had fallen asleep. Armitage envied Ben for it.

* * *

Despite any treacherous thoughts, Armitage did not go into town the next day as he had threatened. He had been asleep while Ben rose for the day. He’d been conscious enough to feel the slightest caress of his skin by his companion but then succumbed to another hour’s rest. He’d been exhausted throughout that day which lent to a poor mood and low tolerance of anything.

The next week of their lives very easily could have been an entire year. Armitage became more and more sullen and quiet around Ben as he sensed the tension between them only widen. On occasion, he would show his affection to Ben with a taking of his hand or even the leaning of his head against the man’s shoulder one evening when they were reading together on the couch. They were still affectionate, certainly, but it felt more disconnected than it had before. Even kissing Ben felt as if he were kissing a stranger. Armitage’s mind was distracted and bogged down with the lack of kinetic energy. His body grew more and more starved of affection until it resembled how he had been before. It wasn’t due to Ben being unwilling, no, but at the misunderstanding between them. He could blame Ben for that all he wanted to but he had a part in it as well.

Ben had finished with the chairs and they were using them, now. Meals were quiet and only surface-level conversations were shared between the two of them. It was unbearable. Armitage would have rather shared command with Enric Pryde than bear surface level conversations with Ben a moment longer. Their nightly games of Dejarik dwindled into barely a round or a passing mention at dinner. Sleeping together in the same bed, too, dwindled until Armitage was barely acknowledging Ben beyond a “good night” before he moved to his own room. He hated it.

That night, a week after their argument, he simply didn’t think he could bear it. His heart was pressing heavily against his ribs as he tossed and turned in his bed. He extended his hand to the empty space in his bed and he found nothing but a great divide. Armitage rose from his bed and made his way to Ben’s room. Just as he was about to knock on the door, he keyed into the sound of muffled voices.

Ben’s low voice spoke. Armitage could decipher the words. “I’m not sure if it’s going to happen. I haven’t made my mind up.” Then there was a pause. “I understand, but I’m needed here. He’s not going to come with me and it’s time to give up on that point. He’s not leaving. There’s no harm in leaving him alone. He won’t do anything.”

His ear pressed against the door. Armitage was quiet enough to not make obvious noise. His palm went flat as he braced himself against the wood.

Ben’s voice sounded after a pause. He seemed frustrated. No, frustrated didn’t seem to be the correct word. It was more than frustrated. Armitage stilled his breathing so he could hear the one-sided conversation.

“I can’t leave him.” A pause. “I don’t want to leave him.”

Armitage blinked and felt his fingers curl against the fine wooden door. One impulsive thought informed him that he should open the door right then and there and demand what was going on and who Ben was speaking to. But when had doing that gotten him anywhere? He wasn’t going in to stop a crime from happening. He wasn’t surprising an enemy when they least expected it. Ben was not the enemy, even if they hadn’t been acting as affectionately toward one another. These words, however, confirmed a fear Armitage had been harboring. Ben did not want to leave. Ben wished to stay. That was reassuring.

There was the sound of scraping and something toppling over. Ben’s voice rose to say, “I know that! It doesn’t mean I want to join you or them! I don’t belong there!”

Armitage was startled by the scraping and stepped back, keeping his footsteps silent. He felt it best to return to his room. He would see Ben tomorrow to speak with him.

Yet the moment he closed his door and sat back in his bed, there was a knocking. Despite the fact he was awake, the urgency of the knocking shocked Armitage. He stood and sat a few times before electing to stand and go to the door. He rubbed his hands over his eyes to make it seem as if he had been sleeping then opened the door.

Ben seemed utterly frantic and distressed. Before Armitage could so much as ask what was going on, his mouth was covered by Ben’s. Instead of protesting, his body gave into the kiss and he clung onto Ben’s chest and arms as if he were the only source of life left on this planet. The kiss filled the void in his heart and more than made up for the lack of affection he’d grown accustomed to over the past week. Urgently, he kissed back and pressed Ben closer toward him. He felt the bumps of the moles and freckles on his back as well as the dips and raised areas caused by scars or the natural lines denoting where the man’s ribs and spine were. Ben stepped toward Armitage and the two stumbled toward the bed. Armitage sat on the edge and pulled Ben toward him, wanting to feel the contact of the other against him.

Instead, Ben fell to his knees before Armitage. That shocked Armitage enough to break the kiss and remove his hands from the other man entirely. His eyes were wide as he stared down at Ben. Ben’s face was twisted in pain and for a moment Armitage wondered if he had done something. But there was no sign of visible injury; only something akin to grief and regret. Ben’s head rest against Armitage’s lap and he held onto the man’s right leg. A shock rippled through his body at the act and Armitage almost lurched back, however that would have been counter-intuitive. Slowly, his right hand buried into Ben’s hair. His fingertips pressed against the younger man’s scalp

Armitage fought down his thoughts of what he had overheard. The one-sided conversation could be the only reason as to why Ben was here as well as why he seemed so distressed. Even still, he did not want Ben to know that he knew. He locked those thoughts away and continued to press his fingers against Ben’s scalp to calm him down. His left hand went to the man’s back to soothe him there as well. For a moment, it didn’t seem as if he was breathing. Then Armitage realized that Ben was breathing rather shallowly.

Both of his hands went to lift up Ben’s head so they could see each other. Ben still seemed stricken. His eyes were red and exhausted as he stared at Armitage. Armitage’s long fingers stroked the man’s face before moving to his shoulder and arms to encourage him toward the bed. Ben went along with the urging and sat beside Armitage, putting one hand on his knee. Armitage covered it and looked at him with the bit of reassurance he could muster without giving away what he knew. It would only further serve to upset Ben and he did not need to be upset.

“Can I stay here?” Ben asked. It was as if he were a child. Armitage could not say no, and he didn’t. His response was moving back into bed and laying down on his back. His arm extended toward Ben to cue in laying down in his arms, which the man did. As soon as Ben curled into him, Armitage wrapped Ben in an embrace. Even this didn’t seem to be enough. It was almost as if he’d forgotten how embracing Ben was like. His body had forgotten him and forgotten what this sort of desire was like. The affection warmed his body and his soul, or whatever was left of it. Armitage pressed his face into Ben’s hair then felt the urge to kiss his forehead, which he did. He felt Ben lift his head and leaned into the kiss that followed. Ben’s hand caressed Armitage’s face and moved through his hair; something which Armitage typically did not like but he did not protest against. There was no need to.

_You know this isn’t going to end happily for you._

He did not know where the voice came from. Armitage was staring at Ben after the kiss was broken when he heard it. Outwardly, he did not react at all to this harbinger of dread. He swallowed it down and focused on the brown of Ben’s eyes. Armitage’s eyes blinked as he finally felt tired. Perhaps all he had been waiting for was Ben to come to him and to reassure him. For a man who went most of his life without desiring romantic attachment, Armitage was surprisingly addicted to needing Ben near him.

_Romance._

The word brought him immediate dread as well. Armitage swallowed that down as well as he was accustomed to doing. He felt the urge to spiral over his thoughts but he filed that away for another time. Ben was here and Ben needed him. He, too, needed Ben.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself saying.

Ben’s gaze was striking even when his eyes were half-closed. He did not respond to the apology but instead kissed him once. Their mouths lingered together before Ben closed his eyes entirely. Armitage, too, shut his eyes and relied on the feeling of Ben’s arms around him to be enough to get him to sleep.

It was the most he’d slept in an entire week.

* * *

“Fucking shit!”

Armitage looked up from his book at Ben’s cursing. He slowly turned the page of his book but continued to stare at Ben where he was sitting. He was shaking his calligraphy brush in frustration and pressed it into the ink. He seemed to be stabbing it in as if it were a knife into meat.

“If you break that nice brush I bought you, I’ll be cross,” he pointed out, going back to his book.

“It’s not the brush,” Ben argued. Armitage could hear the movement of the inkwell against the desk and he readied himself for a frustrated outburst.

He dared to ask, “What is it, then?” Armitage turned a page. _Admiral Rae Sloane traveled to---_

Another curse and the sound of something heavy and weighted toppling over. It yanked him from his reading and forced him to shut the book without marking the page. Armitage stared at Ben, who was standing up now. The inkwell had been thrown to the floor and the papers Ben had been practicing on were streaked with uneven strokes of the brush. Some of those lines were faded with no clear beginning, middle, or end depending on the sequencing order. Ben’s hands were stained with the ink, though in patches rather than in certain patterns. The inkwell was on the floor and had a crack through it. Luckily there was no ink to stain the floor. If there had been, Armitage would have reacted worse than he did.

“Are you quite happy, now? You broke it!” Armitage exclaimed, standing as well.

The inkwell lifted and floated in front of Ben’s face so he could examine it closer. “It’s not broken,” he argued. Then the inkwell rotated to show Ben the left side was cracked. Ben’s expression faltered and he met Armitage’s pointed look. “Oh.”

“’Oh’ is right.” Armitage walked over and took the inkwell from midair. He ran a finger over the long crack. It was impossible to fix on their own. Neither of them repaired glass and it wasn’t as if they had the resources to. “You can’t use it now. Filling it up with ink would only stain everything. You don’t want to know how many credits I spent on it.”

Ben’s brows raised as he looked from the inkwell to Armitage. He tilted his head as he looked for a solution but found none. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well, nothing can be done to save it now” Armitage closed his hand around the inkwell. “Except it would make a nice paperweight for my office.”

A thoughtful and amused hum sounded in Ben’s throat. “I ran out of ink, anyway. Can’t practice for a while until I get new ink.”

“I thought I’d bought you a supply to last for a while. Don’t tell me you’ve used it up so soon.”

Ben shrugged and went to tidy his papers, organizing which ones to throw out and which ones to save for the future. “I practice a lot. I’m not always outside with my lightsaber. Sometimes I go out and practice this.”

“It rains constantly,” Armitage countered, “doesn’t it turn to…..to mulch?”

Another amused sound came from Ben’s throat. It was almost a chuckle. “I’ve timed it out so I go when the rain is lightest. I go to the side of the lake. It’s a nice spot and the tree trunk is still safe to sit on. I’ve been meaning to figure out what sort of tree it is. It’s remarkably stable and strong to withstand all of the rain.”

Armitage lightly passed the inkwell between his hands. “You realize you’re speaking like an old man who is going senile,” he teased monotonously. “Next you’ll be birdwatching and categorizing the animals that live in the forest.”

“That’s what _you’ll_ be doing.” Ben retaliated. “That’s the only thing you’ll talk about when you come outside to see me.”

“What else am I supposed to compliment you on? Your fine stature? Your strokes?”

Armitage paused and pointed his finger toward Ben, whose face was contorting into something amuse and was clearly about to make an inappropriate comment. “Do not start.”

“Wasn’t going to say anything. You’re welcome, by the way.”

The banter was sorely needed. Armitage matched Ben’s knowing smile then looked down at the inkwell. He suddenly remarked, “I can buy you a new one and more ink. I can go into town.”

Ben marginally frowned. It marred the light in his eyes. “I can go tomorrow.”

“No, no, it’s no problem. I can’t focus on my book anyway. I’ll go now and be back within two hours.” Armitage drummed his fingers on the inkwell then turned to leave the library. He heard Ben coming after him and turned to greet him again. “I’ll grab my coat and go. You can stay here. I think the LEP droids need to be looked at.”

“I can go with you,” Ben insisted, though not aggressively. Armitage was quite thankful for that. He didn’t know if he could stand an argument after their reconciliation.

He squeezed Ben’s arm then turned to go up the stairs to his room. “That’s kind of you,” he said back to Ben, who was following him closely, “but I’m perfectly capable of going into town by myself and purchasing what you need. Besides---“ Armitage faced Ben as they reached the second floor, “I’m going a little mad being kept up in here. The air will do me some good.”

He went to his room to find his coat and wrap himself in it. The inkwell was placed within his pocket and he counted the credits he had left. He’d been lucky that Maratelle hadn’t taken _everything_. Ben’s heavy footsteps came inside the room and he stood apart from Armitage. “You won’t be long? In town?”

There was a nature and color to his voice that Armitage picked up on. It was worry, yes, but also sadness. He frowned as he met Ben’s face again and questioned, “What are you worried about?”

Ben’s eyes went to his feet then all around the room. He gesticulated weakly toward the window. “The storm,” he responded.

“What storm? I don’t see any sign it will storm.” Armitage looked out the window. It was dreary, yes, but there was no sign in the sky it would downpour.

“A storm is coming,” Ben insisted distractedly. “Let me come with you.”

He rested his hand against Ben’s chest then brought it to his face, pulling Ben out of his stupor. Armitage ensured the other man was concentrated on him as he said, “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s going into town then coming back. I won’t cause a ruckus. I never do. That’s your job.”

That cracked the veneer. Ben rolled his eyes and reluctantly nodded. Armitage said again, “There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll be back. I promise. It’s my house, after all. You won’t be getting it from me that easily.”

Twice he patted Ben’s cheek, gaining a small “ouch” from the man. Armitage then harshly ruffled Ben’s hair and walked past him. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“Alright,” Ben replied.

Armitage left him alone in the room and Ben felt the urge to run after him. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach sprouted. Ben’s inner world was shaking violently as he heard Armitage nearing the stairs then going down them. Sounds were amplified in this moment of pure fear and he heard the door going outside shut.

Armitage was wrong. He was walking into the middle of the storm. All Ben could do was watch from the window and wait for the inevitability to arrive.


	18. Chapter 18

No rain was falling, which was quite nice. The sky was still grey and the wind was rather calm at the moment. He knew it was easy enough for the wind to pick up and a storm to pass over the area, especially as he drew closer to the water. It was always ten to fifteen degrees cooler by the water than it was inland. Armitage was glad for his coat which had some insulation but not too much. His body typically ran cold and his skin had hardened to the elements of the planet. Even still, he appreciated a good insulated lining. His father had done something right by insulating his jackets and coats. It was a habit Armitage had picked up when overseeing design of Stormtrooper armor and First Order uniforms. They had to be ready to do battle in any condition.

The road leading into town was not too muddy, either, which was also nice. His boots were not dirtied as much as they were when it had freshly rained or when it had rained for days and flooded parts of his land. They were not as dirty as when he and Ben walked to town together and the latter purposefully kicked mud to his shoes just to piss him off. Ben could be such a child sometimes despite the fact he was merely five years younger than him. Even still, Armitage did regret not letting Ben come with him. The walk into down was dreadfully boring after the first ten minutes and he forced himself to think of anything interesting to keep his boredom at bay. Ben had been so insistent on coming. There had been almost an urgency to it that Armitage had only noticed now that he was far removed from the moment. It was much too late to return and insist he come along for the specific reason that he was bored and wanted someone to converse with. He’d already made a point and he had to carry through. He would buy Ben a new inkwell as well as some ink and return home.

In fact, now that Armitage was thinking of it, perhaps he would buy Ben something extra. A new pair of boots or even a warmer sweater. The one Ben had now was getting full of small, but noticeable holes. It drove Armitage mad whenever Ben insisted on wearing it or whenever he washed it. Armitage’s long fingers would poke into a new hole and make it marginally bigger. That would lead to inevitable scolding and mumbling that Ben needed to get proper clothes and not look like a ragged man. Yes, he would certainly buy Ben some new sweater or shirt so he could look presentable.

It wasn’t about being presentable, necessarily, that Armitage was worried about. He liked how Ben looked with the clothes he wore now. He liked seeing Ben in smart shirts and trousers that made him appear clean and well-kept. He’d let go of the inner desire to cut Ben’s hair to proper military standards. As time had passed, Armitage found he liked it long. He liked seeing it move ever-so slightly over Ben’s shoulders as he moved or turned his head. He particularly enjoyed moving the hair away from Ben’s face as they kissed or just to show his quiet consideration and affection. Then there were the moments at night, when all Armitage wanted was to be near to Ben, that he would move Ben’s hair behind his ear and keep his face pressed close to Ben’s or to press his face in the crook of Ben’s neck. He didn’t find himself minding the length of the hair anymore. It delighted him. It engaged him. It caused him to smile even now as he reflected on it. It was a softness he felt toward Ben and a desire for him to have nothing but the best. Ben’s savageness had subconsciously attracted Armitage to him but now it was the gentility and simplicity of the man himself which engaged his heart now. Now, Armitage wanted nothing but the best for Ben. That was his new objective in life. To create a legacy and to cultivate what was best for Ben. Ben was the only person he cared for, now, besides himself. Even still, Armitage believed he cared for Ben more than himself. Levels more, degrees more. He would do what was best for Ben. And, for now, that meant buying him clothes without holes in them.

The toe of his boot hit the muddy earth and Armitage stumbled briefly. He muttered a curse as he lifted his foot to examine it. There wasn’t anywhere he could wipe the mud off nor did he carry any sort of handkerchief to clean his shoe. He looked at the muddle spot in disdain and uselessly shoot his foot to fling off small specks of mud before he carried on. He would have to find something to clean his shoe off in town, which was not too far away. The outline of the town could be seen in the horizon. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Armitage went over the list in his head as his steps carried him nearer to the town. Inkwell, ink, sweater. Inkwell, ink, sweater. It became a mantra as he entered the town and began to interact with the beings—mainly humans—who were moving about.

The town was bustling with trade and with life. The sounds of words being spoken in the human language and three other languages of which Armitage was not familiar with. He was a general, not a diplomat. He had no reason to learn other languages. It was a useless practice. He wove throughout the groups of people without paying them much attention to them. Instead, he looked for the appropriate shops he needed to enter. It was easy to find the shop where he had first purchased Ben’s calligraphy set.

A man, who seemed to be older than his father would have been now, was checking the stocks. There was a soft bell which sounded as Armitage entered and drew the owner’s attention. He slowly turned and nodded in greeting. The man was balding with greying hair on either side of the bald spot. There were clear lines of age on his forehead which were bisected by a scar which stuck out against his black skin like a vein. Armitage’s brief curiosity over the scar faded as he acknowledged the man. “Hello.”

“Hello, young man. I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” The old man stepped behind his counter and reached underneath the counter for some papers. “I trust your friend enjoyed his purchase?”

“Very much so. I cannot thank you enough.” Armitage felt warmth in his chest as he walked further into the store. He looked over the shelves of various inkwells, books, and brushes. He reached to touch one of them, which looked particularly well-crafted and even smooth. “I do have a question for you.”

“Oh?” Asked the old man. Armitage took out the inkwell out of his pocket and placed it on the counter. The man’s brow raised to his scarred forehead, crinkling the vein-like mark. He hummed thoughtfully and examined it in his large hands. His remarkably slender fingers—almost as slender as Armitage’s own fingers—glided over the crack in a considerate manner. “How did this happen?”

“My friend has a bit of a temper,” Armitage explained, putting his arms behind his back. “It was an accident. He treats the art like one would a religion. He’s been cross lately. Again, it was an accident.”

Another hum came from the old man’s mouth as he continued to examine the inkwell. “You told him how many credits you spent on this?”

“I did, indeed. He’s not one for recalling that. He feels terribly guilty.”

The man looked up. A sly smile crossed his lips. It wasn’t threatening, however, nor held any malice. To be honest, it was a relief to see such genuine mirth from someone of his father’s apparent generation. He felt his own smile appear to mirror the old man’s. “Good,” the man replied. His voice was warm and sunny despite the cloudy atmosphere. “It won’t be cheap to buy a new one. But you can take a look at what I have and we’ll talk price.” He gestured for Armitage to browse and went into the back of the shop behind a green curtain.

Armitage obeyed and began to browse through the shelves where the inkwells were lined up. There were sizes of all sorts and various designs. Some were plainer but Armitage was never one for plain designs when it came to gifts like this, especially for Ben. Ben did deserve it, even if he broke the original one. He deserved something nice considering many of his personal items were so plain. His lightsaber did not count. Ben’s lightsaber was a necessity. It was an extension of himself and not a luxury. If anything, the handle was quite plain. There was nothing elaborate in its decoration. Thus, Ben needed something rather luxurious in regards to his calligraphy set.

His eyes were drawn to one inkwell in particular. It was mainly square though the edges were rounded and not too sharp. It was mainly glass but the sides and edges were decorated with a surprisingly polished bronze. The bronze designs were leaf and vine-like. These curling designs led to a coat of arms of sort on each of the four sides. They seemed to be shields upon first look. Armitage’s eyes could not quite discern the exact design but he was absolutely drawn to it. He picked it up and carefully held it within his hands, turning it to see every detail in every direction. It was appropriately smooth when it came to the glass and, when he moved his fingers over the bronze, he found there were small diamond-like stones imbedded in it. When he tilted the inkwell into the light, they shone ever so slightly. It was understated but beautiful and it caught Armitage off-guard. His fingers moved to the topper which was also bronze. It was less elaborate in design but there were still leaf-like images beautifully set on top. The bumpy, yet still smooth, texture was delightful to feel as he lifted the topper off then back on the inkwell.

He could see Ben writing with it already. The image which came to mind was of Ben sitting in the library in the late hous of the night. Perhaps it would be the one night where he could sleep but elected not too. Perhaps it would also be a night where Armitage was intent on finishing a book or finishing his own record keeping. Regardless, Ben would be seated at the desk in the library with his calligraphy and his inkwell. He would be working intently and dipping his pen in the inkwell to refill it. The sides of his hands and his fingers would be spattered with ink which had dried hours ago and still remained imprinted on his skin. There could be ink on his face, too, from Ben absentmindedly touching his chin or scratching his forehead and nose. It could highlight his cheekbones or marr the beauty marks on his face. He would be working contently, happily and not be aware of how much time had passed until Armitage came over to see what he was working on and the progress. And they would share a brief word or even a caress. A kiss, too, would be shared. Ben would be happy. Armitage, himself would be happy. The inkwell would stand proudly at Ben’s workspace and be a symbol of Armitage’s deep, unending admiration for his companion.

The very thought caused his heart to swell.

In the distance, the bell chimed signaling another customer had entered. Armitage paid no attention to it as he brought the inkwell to the counter. The old man had returned and was wiping his hands on an inkstained rag. “You found something you liked?”

“I did.” Armitage set it on the counter.

The man squinted so he could get an overview of the item then picked it up in his hands. He nodded in confirmation and hummed. “My husband bought me a similar one years ago for my birthday,” he noted. “I’ve broken many of his gifts for me but not the one like this. Not for the sake of trying.”

“Is that so?” Armitage’s brows raised at the anecdote. He was more intrigued but did not push the man to speak.

Even still, the man continued on. “It’s made of a fine glass. I believe there’s a hint of marble as well but mainly glass. It’s what give it its sheen, see?” He tilted in around in the light and Armitage paid closer attention. The man was right; there was a slight tint and sheen to the inkwell.

He asked, “Are those diamonds in the bronze, as well?”

“Oh, yes. Very small but clear and true. The bronze doesn’t obscure them too much yet it also does not make it too gaudy.”

“You speak with expertise,” Armitage complimented. He stuck his hand in his pocket to pull out credits.

“After I left the army, I returned to my first love.” The man smiled knowingly and set the inkwell down. “I originally wished to be a scribe and a translator. I learned from wonderful teachers, wonderful people who had transcribed much of the information from past histories. Calligraphy, to me, is a necessary artform. Our ancestors created it and it connects us to them. We have a duty to uphold their legacy.”

Something about the man’s words rubbed Armitage the wrong way but he did not let that show on his face. Instead, he asked, “You were in the army? Which army, may I ask?”

“Your father’s.”

There was a tense pause. Armitage felt as if the floor may give out and he would fall to the molten core of the planet. “You knew my father?”

“Briefly. I worked in the Imperial Military and at the Academy. I decided enough was enough and I was discharged. I traveled around for some time before I returned here.” The man rubbed his leg and patted the spot above his knee.

“Why did you come back here? What made you leave?” Armitage questioned. He wasn’t quite ready to ask about his father. The possible responses made his stomach churn.

“I had served my time,” the man responded simply. “I was injured, as well, and felt I couldn’t serve the military to the fullest. Your father seemed to respect it. As did Admiral Sloane. I received my discharge and off I went.”

Armitage had heard his father speaking briefly of soldiers who were discharged. Like the old man said, it was mainly due to injury. But it was rare that Armitage heard of a discharge which did not further result in a suspicious death. This man did not seem the suspicious type. He was being open about his story, after all. A guilty man would not be so open and willing to converse with a man who once had the power to order him to his death. The trusting nature of this man marveled Armitage into silent consideration.

The man seemed to pick up on this. He tilted his balding head at Armitage then returned attention to the inkwell. “You’ve picked a fine one. Expensive, but rather fine. Are you willing to invest in it? Or would you rather go with a less-expensive one in case your friend breaks it again?” His whitening brows lifted to his scarred forehead.

“I believe I can talk enough sense in him to not break this one.” Armitage reflected. “I rather think he’ll like it,” he continued nearly to himself.

The man smiled and began to wrap the inkwell. “Seven-hundred and seventy-five credits.”

Armitage took out the appropriate amount and set it down. “How long have you been here?”

“Since I was married.” The man’s blue eyes squinted. “Thirty-seven years.”

“And you worked at the Academy, you mentioned?”

The man nodded. Armitage marveled, “Why did I not see you?”

“I left before you would have been old enough to attend,” the man explained. He set the wrapped inkwell to the side and extended a thin, wrinkling hand. “Maris Veers.”

Slowly, Armitage took the hand and shook it. “Armitage Hux.”

“Very nice to meet you, Armitage Hux.” Maris firmly shook Armitage’s hand. “You look very much like your father.” A pause. “Your eyes, though, are not his.”

“I’ve been told.” Armitage released the hand and picked up the inkwell. “Thank you very much for your help.” Another thought struck him. “May I also purchase ink? I apologize.”

Maris held up a hand. “It’s no trouble.” He went in the back of the store then returned with the ink. “That will be eighty-credits.”

Obediently, Armitage paid and Maris placed his items in a canvas-like bag. “Thank you, Maris. It was nice speaking with you.”

“Likewise. I will be expecting to hear how your friend likes his gift! He must be a dear friend, indeed, to be the recipient of such a gift.”

“He is. He is, indeed,” Armitage replied. He lifted a hand in farewell and turned to leave. As he walked down the aisles to the store, his shoulder clipped against something rather sharp. Thinking it was a shelf, he almost brushed it off. That was, until, he saw the raised hood and realized it was a person.

“My apologies.” He looked at the figure and saw the briefest glint of a vibrant brown underneath the hood.

It startled him enough to stop and stare at the hooded figure. The figure sharply faced the aisle and went down one of them. The head was otherwise aimed toward the items for sale and did not seem to want to look at Armitage again.

An unsettled feeling came across him and Armitage left the store, the twinkling bell signaling his departure.

* * *

Cool, moist air was forced through Armitage’s lungs as he walked through the streets and turned corners. The bag containing the inkwell and ink gently knocked against the side of his thigh and hip as he maneuvered toward a fabric and furniture shop. The strange, unsettled feeling nagged at him but he brushed it off in favor of going inside. Greeting the older woman who worked there, he voiced his interest in seeing seating fabric. After giving his description of what he wanted to her, Armitage waited while she went to find some samples.

The nagging feeling returned and he looked over his shoulder toward the window and doors looking out to the busy streets. It was midafternoon and there were people conducting their business. Children of schooling age must be at their schools for Armitage only saw either babies or younglings barely older than four being ushered about by their caretakers. It still had not rained even though the skies were grey and overcast. Some people had their heads covered while others did not. In shops and indoor stores, no one had their heads covered. Covering one’s face could be a religious matter of which Armitage could not speak to. Perhaps he should not have felt the nagging feeling toward the being’s covered face in the calligraphy shop. Even still, his nagging feelings were rarely unwarranted. Armitage prided himself on having sharp instincts. He knew he was right about feeling the unease but he couldn’t quite place why.

The intense, light brown of the person’s eyes had caught him off-guard. Now that he thought about it, the eyes had been widened as they made contact with his own. Armitage was not sure if that was due to unexpected eye contact or something else. Even still, it unsettled him greatly. There was a reason to it; he just wasn’t sure as to why.

The woman returned with some options for him to look at. Armitage nodded along as the woman explained how the fabric may look nice but he was not entirely focused on what she was saying. He chose the fabric which looked closer to what was already on the chairs back at the estate and requested she make two covers for the cushions he needed. He paid her accordingly and left the store. He would have to return to pick up his order in two days.

His stomach churned sickeningly when he stepped outside and breathed in the air. There it was; that feeling again. There was a paranoid feeling of being watched and followed that Armitage had thought he’d gotten rid of long ago. Armitage glanced about with a frown and walked on. Twice he looked over his shoulder. On the third go, just as he was on the outskirts of the marketplace, he noticed the familiar grey cloak and hood drawn up over the face. His heart palpated as he recognized the figure and he sharply turned his head forward to the direction in which he was walking. It caused Armitage to briefly stumble over his feet but he recovered and walked into the meat section of the market.

Butchered carcasses were everywhere and Armitage was not fond of the stench. But it was easy to lose oneself in the midst of gathering beings and of requests being yelled over one another. A cacophony of voices surely lent to confusion and missteps. He turned sideways to step between beings without so much as touching them. Armitage didn’t know what was worse; being potentially followed or the smell of decaying meat.

As soon as he left the meat section, he found himself where the fish were being hawked. Armitage could not help but roll his eyes and hold his breath as he, too, moved efficiently beyond this market. His head turned over his shoulder and the grey cloaked figure still followed. From a distance, yes, but they had followed nearly his exact path. That was enough to confirm his fears.

Instantly, his mind began to spiral. It was the New Republic. They had come to kill him. Another thought; it was some bastard from the First Order who had survived. Surely if he and Ben had survived, there was no reason soldiers from the First Order couldn’t have survived. There were thousands of millions who were stationed across the galaxy. If Ben had found out where he had been, there was no reason DH-1460 couldn’t have spilled the location of the fallen First Order general to another former soldier with a grudge.

Protection. He needed protection desperately. Armitage’s green eyes flitted about for any sign of a store or stand that might sell a weapon. This was likely not the right locale for a weapons market. He wracked his brain thinking of the existence of a weapons market.

A few sharp turns down corners and streets later, Armitage’s feet carried him in front of a weapons stall. He greeted the middle-aged man there with a brief nod of acknowledgement before looking at the selection of blades laid almost delicately across the stall.

Armitage had always liked small, concealable blades. Small, yes, but with a length and sharpness that was enough to cause maximum damage. He had a monomolecular blade which he had been fond of and kept in the sleeve of his uniform. It was within easy range so, on the off-chance he needed to use it, it would catch his attacker by surprise. He hadn’t used it, unfortunately. Armitage had never liked to get his hands dirty but he had dreamed of it. He’d dreamed of the day where he lost the smallest bit of control and did the dirty work himself. He’d done it once or twice but it had been overseen and covered up by Phasma. Armitage thought specifically to Admiral Brooks. He remembered almost shaking with pleasure the moment he saw Brooks’ lifeless body slump to the ground, covered in blaster holes and burns. It had marred the man’s dignity. Armitage had taken solace in that. As much solace as he took in that, he took more when he demanded the body be cremated and shot out of an airlock. Then for the Admiral’s visage to be used in training programs—as an enemy to the First Order, of course.

Armitage had wished he’d had the time and the patience to use his blade on Brooks. But that was in the past. Now, he was looking over the fine selection of hand-held blades. Some of them were too wide to hide easily. He began to think of the practicalities of having more than one. It would certainly help to have them in his coat sleeves and within reach in his trouser pockets.

The man discussed various blades and showed Armitage many while he also spoke to the design and craftsmanship of each blade. As he did Armitage looked to the side, through the wandering crowds. There he saw the figure in grey. Their face was still shrouded by the hood. Their body mass was in-discernable due to the abundance of fabric. They were short, yes, but not enough so he had total advantage over them.

His attention returned to the man and the selection of weapons. His eyes landed on one that reminded him of the monomolecular blade he’d once owned. It was thin but long enough to cause damage. He wondered aloud how well it could be hidden. The man told him it was easy enough to hide in the inseams of clothing or in a boot. There were ways to rig shoes so, upon a certain application of pressure, the blade could jump out and be used by hand or be used on the tip of the shoe to slash at an opponent’s legs. Armitage liked that idea very much.

Quietly, he purchased that one as well as another he could keep in a pocket. The man provided sheaths which were not cheap. Armitage paid without hassle and continued on his way. He managed to slide the smaller blade into his sleeve. It was difficult to keep it secure but he would rather be safe than sorry.

His last stop, he convinced himself, had to be to purchase Ben a new sweater or shirt. Another look cast over his shoulder and a self-assessment later, he moved toward the edge of the town where he knew the clothing shops were. It was closer to where he had entered the town itself. The location killed two birds with one stone, as it were.

Strangely, his panic subsided when he began walking through the shop. Armitage could hear the sound of a loom and sewing in the back as he walked through the aisles. His fingers moved over the sweaters and shirts to contact the fabric. Thankfully, much of it was soft. Upon close inspection, he saw the stitches were tight but it didn’t compromise the softness of the material. He wondered how strong it would be; if Ben would rip it as easily as he did his other ones.

A black sweater would be a good base, but then Armitage thought about a different color. He peered through the folded stacks until he found a darker blue one. There was enough color but it was still dark enough for Ben to want to wear and use. It was just as soft as the black sweater but it drew Armitage’s attention more than the black one did. He could almost see Ben wearing it now. It brought a faint smile to his face. He held tightly onto it then walked to look at the shirts. There was one white and one green one; both rather nice and dashing, if Armitage had a say. It would look good buttoned up on Ben’s body and fitted over his broad chest and arms. Ben would look handsome, dashing, classy. Yes, these shirts and the sweaters would do. 

He purchased them with the last of the credits he cared to spend and placed them in the canvas bag he’d received from Maris Veers’ shop. Then, after taking a breath, he walked outside to set off for home.

To think of the estate as home now eased his spirit. It was interesting to refer to the estate, to Ben, as home so comfortably in his thoughts. His heart soared as he settled on the thought and it encouraged him to begin his trip back to the estate.

His comforting thoughts did not last long. It was hardly ten minutes before Armitage got the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. At first, he believed, it was ridiculous to do so. It was ridiculous to think he would be followed after not noticing anyone outside of the clothing shop. He hadn’t seen the grey-cloaked figure so, perhaps naively, he assumed the figure had stopped following him. Regardless, they had been in a crowded area and maybe the figure’s attention had been drawn elsewhere.

He realized how naïve that sounded. That almost sounded like Ben’s reasoning. Ben was cautious, of course, but he had grown too comfortable on the estate. Armitage could sympathize. He depended too much on the monotony of their days. He relied on nothing happening and creating his own excitement with Ben; no matter if that excitement was drunken games of Dejarik or getting caught hauling in wood during a sudden storm. That was dependable and safe for Armitage. This new danger was something he hadn’t experienced in a year. His body felt as if it were on alert. It was as if red lights and alarms were going off inside of him. His heart pounded painfully against his ribcage in fear that he would be put into danger. The fight-or-flight reaction was screaming and echoing through his body.

Armitage stopped walking five minutes later. From several feet behind him, he heard footsteps stop. His head briefly looked over his shoulder. Out of his periphery, he could see the vaguest formation of a figure in grey robes with the hood drawn up. Armitage did not bother lingering to get a better look. He continued to walk and reacted as if he had seen nothing; as if he had only been imagining things.

He was more than certain the figure knew better than that. Hell, Armitage knew better than that for he had forced himself to conjure the idea.

His thoughts turned to the knives he had sheathed on his person. The one that was clumsily put in his sleeve moved about. It was taking all of his energy and maneuvering to keep in in check along his wrist.

The beating of his heart increased as he focused on the footsteps of the person behind him. His breathing sped up but he kept it all very subtle. Armitage began to slow his pace and he heard the pace of the figure slow as well. He walked, slowing down his pace more and more, until he stopped entirely. It likely wasn’t the best idea. After all, it left him open and vulnerable to a sudden attack by the figure. But Armitage was running through plans he was formulating on the fly. His hearing was attuned to the sound of movement coming from behind. He anticipated it; waiting for the moment to react.

His action was likely impulsive but it was justified. The footsteps behind him came closer and Armitage reacted defensively. Suddenly, he turned and pulled the blade out of his sleeve. The sheath was throw aside and he swiped it at the arm of the figure. The ripping of clothing and startled gasp from the figure caused space to increase between them.

A rapid assessment of those few seconds told Armitage that the gasp was high pitched. His widened eyes bore toward the figure which had moved five steps back from him. The hood was starting to recede. There was the familiar, startling glint of brown. Something in it seemed angry. That was another certainty he settled on.

Armitage gripped onto the handle and prepared himself in case the figure moved toward him again. “I will kill you,” he snarled, “Republic scum.”

He had no idea why those presumptive words came from his mouth but it clicked in his head. This was the only reason he was being followed. It had to be the New Republic.

A fearful thought crossed his mind. Ben had been speaking quite passionately to, seemingly, nobody the other night. He’d said he didn’t want to leave; that he needed to stay on Arkanis. It was a choice he had made. Armitage wondered if the New Republic would seriously honor that or if they were there to give Ben a reason to leave.

It wasn’t as if he would have trusted them anyway. The New Republic was scum. All of them were scum, traitors, and war criminals if Hux had anything to say about it. If he had his way, he would have executed them all. He would have been quicker on Starkiller Base and ensured their destruction then and there. Then he would have had the scavenger and the traitor Stormtrooper executed where they stood.

But that was all in the past. It was a list of things he could not change now. The situation which presented itself now was one of almost equal danger to his own life and, potentially, Ben’s.

_Ben._

The thought of losing Ben was infinitely worse than the thought of losing his own life. It fueled Armitage’s fury and encouraged him to move forward. His boot stepped on top of the shard of cloak he had torn off. That motivated him to look at the figure closer.

The wrist and arm that was shown due to the rip was slender and pale. The fingers were thin but not quite boney, though it was easy to think so with how hyperextended they were. There was fabric—of which kind Armitage could not discern—bandaged around the wrist which disappeared under the rest of the cloak.

The second Armitage realized the positioning of the arm, wrist, and fingers, he felt his body lock up. It was sudden but not painful, thankfully. He’d been expecting pain and was shocked to find only tension. The Force. This was the use of the Force Armitage had feared Ben using at first. The ability to control others and end their autonomy, even for the briefest of moments, was something Armitage had feared months ago upon Ben’s arrival. He’d grown to trust Ben, now. The same would never be said for this individual, whoever they were.

His jaw ground together as he demanded, “Show your face, scum.”

Nothing but the sound of nature filled the void between them. They were glaring at one another; Armitage clearly and evidently and the figure through the fabric which obscured their face. Though the figure may have stopped him, Armitage acted as if he held the power. He showed no sign of fear other than the momentary shock of being forced to remain still. His fury encouraged him to glare and seethe at the figure as they made no movement. It was agonizing to not be obeyed. He’d given an order and he expected it to be carried out.

Although, to his shock, the figure lifted their hands. They were careful not to release Armitage from the Force hold as they did so. It must have taken great concentration. The hands lifted to the hood of the cloak and, slowly, began to move it off the figure’s head.

Armitage did not know what to expect when the figure had begun to move. He wondered if it would be a face or a voice he recognized. Would it be the traitor FN-2187? Or would it be Poe Dameron who had been so cocky and irritating both to communicate with as an enemy as well as a reluctant ally. Perhaps it would be the giant Wookie. Fearfully, he thought it was DH-1460 and that she was back to carry out what she had threatened to do; to kill him. All of those thoughts rushed through his head as he waited anxiously.

In front of him, holding his steady and shocked gaze, was the face of the scavenger girl—Rey.

“General Hux. We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	19. Chapter 19

He wondered if this would seem ironic to Hux; this being seeing Ben standing on the stretch of land in the front of the estate. Ben had enough awareness and a good enough memory to know this was how their entire new chapter had started. It was ironic enough this would be how it ended.

Of course, he couldn’t voice that thought to Armitage. He couldn’t have done it after the first time he’d meditated in front of him—when he’d convinced himself that not all visions came true—and especially not after the dream he’d had a few nights ago when he’d woken Armitage up and shunned his company. Ben didn’t feel he’d been wrong for doing it. How could he tell Armitage what he had seen and make him understand, all while still keeping his love?

He knew it was love that bound them together. It had to be. Armitage didn’t have to say it for Ben to know. Ben didn’t have to say it for Armitage to know, either. It was in everything they did together. It was in the looks and conversations they shared and the experiences they went through. It was in the tough conversations they had and the clear fact they always came back together after arguments. Ben cherished how their relationship had shifted and how it continued to grow.

It had been the first time in his life he’d felt this sort of love. Yes, he’d loved his parents. He’d loved them dearly even despite the periods where he’d thought he’d hated them and felt isolated. They had been his parents. Now, having come to terms with being a part of the grey, he realized that they had not been perfect but it hadn’t meant they were unworthy of love. Ben could feel conflicted emotions about them all he wanted, but it never erased the fact they had been his parents and they had loved him unconditionally. Even Snoke’s constant lectures and visions he had seen couldn’t erase the love he’d held in his heart to his parents. But that was familial love. That was love that couldn’t match to romantic love.

Never in his life had he felt even a shred of romantic affection or adoration. He’d had crushes, sure, but his mind had been soiled and poisoned so thoroughly that he hadn’t been able to focus on pursuing them; nor did he have the desire to do anything other than fulfill the so-called destiny of his grandfather. Ben often wondered how he would have reacted if he’d learned the truth of Anakin Skywalker and not Darth Vader. He dared to dream what might have happened if Anakin had overcome his darkness and, rather, succumbed to the grey. How would the galaxy have changed had he killed Palpatine and changed the path of the Jedi? Would he and Padme have successfully raised his mother and uncle? Would Ben even be alive right now? Even further, would Armitage even be alive?

Rey wouldn’t. Or, rather, perhaps she would have been. Perhaps they would have grown up together or at least knew of one another. Then again, maybe she would have grown up with her parents on some other planet and never met Ben Solo. Ben wondered what sort of woman she would have grown to be had Anakin Skywalker not succumbed to his darker urges and instead ventured into the grey.

That was the past. Ben had a habit of dwelling in it if only to learn from mistakes of generations past. It was hard to avoid it when the legacies of thousands of Jedi lived within him. It was a heavy burden and it would have been unbearable were it not for Rey. She didn’t have to be on the same planet to share the burden. The very feeling of their connection strengthened Ben every moment they were away from one another. There was a trust that had begun to build and a foundation which strengthened in the time after the war ended. He felt them both growing strong and they had begun to cultivate the meaning of their Force dyad. Being privy to Rey’s company and trust empowered Ben as he took his first steps in discovering who he truly was. It was the same experience for Rey, he’d found. More often than not, they had stayed up late together just talking or delving into visions they had experienced on their own time. There was much for them to discover and shape. They had an entire new generation of Force-users to educate.

Ben had taken to the task with confidence that his father would have been proud of. His mother, too, but he had a feeling Han Solo would be especially proud of the initiative his son had taken. It had felt good for the first few weeks. Then, as Ben had cautiously predicted, his enthusiasm waned as he weighed the pros and cons as well as did battle with his own confidence.

The lingering remnants of the poison he had been fed since gestation remained. The death of Palpatine couldn’t entirely erase an entire lifetime of manipulation. What frightened Ben was the fact he was hyper-aware of it. Despite this awareness, it was as if his actions disobeyed his brain. He would voice concerns on plans Rey proposed or on Finn and Poe’s ideas of how to get rid of the systemic brainwashing the First Order had begun. Ben often reflected on these disagreements with surprise in private moments. He found his initial rebuffs were the result of Palpatine’s poison as well as the First Order’s. Their propaganda still flowed through his mind and twisted the intentions he may have held. These thoughts were traitorous. Ben knew the New Republic saw it that way. They had yet to trust him fully, even though Rey constantly vouched for him. He could never thank her enough for that yet he also felt he did not deserve it. How could he when he was still speaking poison and doing battle with his own conscience each day?

Rey had told him it would take time. Truthfully, she was still reeling from everything she had been through and everything she had learned. She had a tough legacy to deal with but she was dealing with it gracefully. She had a more determined and sharp mind than Ben felt he did. It could be age. It could be that Ben was tired from doing battle. He’d been at war since the moment he was conceived. He’d never had a moment’s rest.

The longer he thought about it, the more Ben thought about taking a step away from it all and resting. Truthfully, he’d thought about going off-planet and finding somewhere to be alone and let time pass. He’d vocally supported Rey’s pitches for a new academy or other leaders’ plans for expanding the New Republic’s authority but he found it difficult to support it in his own heart. He was exhausted. The burdens were piling back on his shoulders and it made him want to run. But, especially in his family, what had running ever solved? His father had run whenever he and Ben’s mother had disagreed. It often took him far away for long stretches of time. Even when Han came back, he never truly stayed for long. Leia had run off to politics. Yes, she had loved Ben dearly but she had felt remarkably distant. Her love, Ben felt, had not left its mark. The same could absolutely be said for Luke. Luke had turned from Ben the moment he’d sensed darkness. He’d emotionally detached from his nephew long before and seen him as a Padawan instead of a young man with needs. Ben was, at the end of the day, human. He had the need for attachment and stability and he hadn’t gotten that.

Thinking of it now, that was another draw to the First Order and to Snoke. There was predictability and there was a group that had need of him. It was a group he belonged to. He didn’t necessarily belong to their ideals—though he thought he had at one time. But it was a vehicle to discovery and to empowerment. Ben, as Kylo Ren, had found his footing with the First Order and truly began to shape himself for the first time. With the home base of the First Order, he’d been permitted to test the extent of his power and how far he was willing to go. It was a power trip and he had relished it. Even reflecting upon it now, Ben found himself smiling at how he’d felt going into battle and taking down enemies. Of course many of them had been innocents. He would regret the death of innocents for the rest of his life. Even so, the phantom taste of power weighed on his tongue and sent a surge of pleasure through his body when he reflected.

Ben wondered if that made him a terrible person. He played these mental games with himself in the late hours when he couldn’t sleep or when he felt himself falling into a pit of loathing and remorse. Mediation often brought this out at the start. The voices of his master—Luke—and of Masters of old offered advice and wisdom that he didn’t always want. He still felt himself rejecting it when the voices prodded his thoughts. It was an old habit. He wondered if this internal war would ever be entirely won. That was the curse of not choosing a side. The grey wasn’t always the best place to be. He mentally didn’t know how he could accept it and attain eternal peace. It seemed so easy for Rey. Her moral compass always seemed to point to the right decision, from Ben’s perspective. She always seemed to say the right thing, think the right thing. That didn’t mean Rey was perfect, however. She made mistakes. She was too impulsive and blindly agreed to some proposals but she took her time and tried to get it right. That seemed to be what Rey was about; getting things right.

When DH-1460—Dany, as she had been soon christened—spoke about Hux being alive, Ben saw it as a chance to do something right. This was a point he agreed with Finn and Poe on, albeit after some convincing. The former general was more useful alive than dead. His mind was brilliant. If they could convince him to come to Chandrila, then there was no telling what further good could come to the galaxy. There was no telling the amount of people his work could help if they could convince him to come and work for them. There was the further matter of safety for Hux but it would be dealt with before and after he arrived on the planet. It made sense to send Ben. After all, Ben had known Hux the longest. He was the one who saw a majority of the man’s personality and knew how to deal with him. It would be a quick job—three months at the most. Four was pushing it but it would have been acceptable. Ben had never meant to stay on Arkanis for eight months and he certainly had not meant to fall in love.

It was only meant to be a simple job. He had steeled off his heart and focused on the task of convincing Hux to return with him. He had dug his feet in the ground and stood his course, even when his former comrade had berated him with every insult he could conjure up in his brilliant mind. Ben had often replied with the appropriate amount of snark yet also grace and patience that he was more than certain his mother would be proud of. He’d lost his temper a few times but had remembered the mission. It was for the good of the galaxy. It was all for the good of the galaxy and that meant Ben had to do whatever was necessary. He had to exercise patience and gain Armitage’s trust. But gaining Armitage’s trust had meant destroying the walls which had divided the two of them for years and, instead, meant building a bridge toward understanding and empathy that neither of them were used to when it came to each other. Ben wasn’t sure Armitage Hux even had an empathetic bone in his body. Even still, everything changed the day he decided to prod a little more. The minute Ben saw vulnerability, he pursued it. He had been convinced Hux wasn’t all stone and steel. There was something behind the façade. Behind the fanaticism and fury, Armitage Hux was a man who had been irrevocably damaged by the environment that sired him. He wasn’t entirely the genocidal demagogue Ben had known him to be. There was more. There was reasoning and logic, as there was to everything that seemed unexplainable. It turned out the estate held the key to Armitage’s reasoning and the key to breaking his walls down.

After Armitage had broken down and insisted Ben kill him, he had felt his heart turning toward an unexpected diverging path. This had not been the man who, months prior, he hadn’t cared if he’d lived or died. Now he did care and it wasn’t simply because the galaxy needed him. When he had witnessed Armitage’s breakdown, Ben had felt himself sympathizing with the man. The brief flashes he’d seen of his life—especially in the estate—made him understand on a deeper level. It did not excuse his actions at all but it brought Ben to an understanding. In an odd way, they were two halves of a whole. Both of them had been neglected in their youth and had drunk the poison they had been raised on; Ben’s by force and Armitage’s by lack of choice. It had been promising that Armitage had accepted the truce. Truthfully, it was what Ben had wanted. He was tired of fighting with everyone but especially with Armitage. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He wanted peace.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t wanted things to be interesting between them. Ben found himself relying on the jabs and critiques of each other. It was the facet of Armitage that had not changed, even when so much of him had. Armitage was still very much the same proud man he had been when he’d been in control of the First Order’s army. All of that pride did not save him from the gravity of his situation. From the moment Ben had stepped onto Hux’s land, he knew that he wasn’t the same man he had been both physically and mentally. There had been a heaviness on his shoulders that weighed him down. He’d been nearly a ghost when he’d seen his former comrade for the first time in months. His body had always been lean but it had been growing to a husk. His beard and hair had been longer than regulation had ever permitted. Ben had wondered if Armitage had completely lost his mind. But within a few short sentences, he’d been reassured that the same Armitage Hux stood before him. Not much had changed regarding how they’d left things.

The longer Ben stayed and the longer he observed, he changed his tune. Armitage Hux had changed significantly and Ben wondered how much it had to do with the locale. If he’d been in a prison, how would Hux have behaved differently? Would he have been as weighed down by the reminder of his family’s legacy? Would he have suffered such fits of panic and thought so often on his earlier life? Ben questioned if Armitage would have even allowed himself to live if he had been in a cell. He’d been so determined to die the day they’d confronted one another in the kitchen and Armitage’s further reaction truly had worried Ben. He’d never seen Armitage lose control in such a manner. Armitage Hux had been a paragon of control and order. His entire life was structured and regimented. None had dared to speak of his personal life or to intrude on intimate matters unless they wished to meet a premature death. With these unexpected confrontations and the lack of fear on Ben’s part, it had forced Armitage’s walls to break down and forced him through the mental block he’d relied upon for so long.

And so they had started anew. They had begun to feel each other out in the sense that they tested new boundaries. Ben felt, in a strange way, as if he and Armitage were beginning to find their way to friendship. It was encouraging news that Rey and the others accepted with glee. It had seemed, to them, that Ben would convince Armitage to return to Chandrila with him and the plan would go smoothly.

That had begun to feel dishonest to Ben. He hadn’t liked the idea of using Armitage the further into friendship they traveled. So he had stopped reporting to Rey so frequently and forced himself to focus on the day-to-day mundanity; of chopping and collecting firewood, keeping the estate warm, training or taking walks outside with Armitage and conversing quite regularly and not as combatively. Ben had never thought he would like doing the same errands day after day. Never in his entire life had he thought he would have grown closer to Armitage Hux of all people. Their conversations were often heated debates but it wasn’t out of maliciousness and spite as they had been previously. There seemed to be a desire for each man to reassure the other and to end the day on good terms, even if arguments had been made.

It was a bond unlike any other Ben had experienced. He’d had a friend or two back at Luke’s academy but the friendship had been fleeting. Even those students hadn’t been able to truly comprehend all facets of Ben’s mind. They hadn’t seen who he truly was or who he could have been. Armitage knew who Ben had been as Kylo Ren and, after much convincing, he’d begun to see who he was as Ben Solo. He’d even agreed to see Ben Solo as he truly was despite any misgivings and hesitations. Ben could still see there were facets of Armitage that were unwilling to give him a chance. That was understandable. Armitage had never been the trusting type. He was quick to make judgements on people the moment they opened their mouths and did so for self-preservation’s sake. He was a patient man but his mind worked quickly. He had a brilliant mind. The more they spoke and conversed on topics which interested them both, the more Ben realized they had in common. Even for Armitage’s practical mechanical faults, Ben had to admit that his plans and designs were well-intentioned and carefully thought out. He hadn’t wanted to admit that Starkiller Base had been a genius idea in the past but now he was willing to admit it. It could have done with more defenses but one always learned from the past.

Ben hadn’t quite pinpointed the moment where he’d felt himself giving his heart to Armitage but it had certainly started after they’d grown closer. He’d begun to think of the former general in a manner he hadn’t thought of him before. It had, seemingly, come out of nowhere; just an admiration of how fine Armitage’s profile was or how the green in his eyes stood out against the dreary backdrop of the estate. It could have been the manner in which he so casually reclined on the couch as he read his books or miscellaneous papers and tilted his head to the side as he examined the words with a critical eye. Or it was the manner in which he spoke to Ben with disdain but betrayed himself with a smile and a cautious glance to measure if he’d gone too far. Ben decided, the first time he’d seen it, that he liked Armitage’s genuine smile. He’d been the recipient of many sneers and smirks over the years so a genuine smile from his once-rival was striking. It was almost boyish and gleeful. There was also the manner in which the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled and laughed. Ben had noticed that smile lines appeared as well when Armitage was smiling particularly wide. It had struck him so hard that Ben had spent two hours longer awake in bed than he would have liked.

The rest of their interactions had included subtle hints of attraction and, Ben dared to think flirtation. He’d never flirted before but he’d started to view the glances and pauses on conversation in a different light. There had to be something more to the words they used and how much time they spent together. Ben wasn’t experienced at all in that regard—he hadn’t known if Armitage was but it was best not to speculate—but even he could sense something had changed for the better and more intimate. Going into town together and cutting Armitage’s hair had made Ben more anxious than he’d been in quite some time. This had been a new sort of anxiety, however. It hadn’t been one which paralyzed him with fear and caused him to doubt everything but it was one which filled him with bubbling light and made him feel like a little boy asking for a favor. Introducing Armitage to Dejarik felt exciting; as if he was letting the former general into a part of his life he’d been keeping away from everyone else.

The day, and night, of Armitage’s birthday had denoted an obvious shift in their relationship. Alcohol was a wonderful social lubricant and Ben hadn’t gotten entirely used to it. After the events of the day and the new progress Armitage had made, they both needed it. Ben hadn’t expected either of them to be so bold. To be truthful, he’d wanted to kiss Armitage then and there. In the moment, he hadn’t known if it was because of the alcoholic influence or because he wanted to see if these feelings were real. But it was for the best they not push it. He’d been surprised at how adamant Armitage had been for Ben to come to his room but he’d known that a sober Armitage would never have made the decision without influence.

Even still, the proximity in which they’d found themselves in nearly pushed Ben to the edge. It would have been so easy to kiss him right there. Their foreheads had been pressed together and their lips were barely inches apart. Ben had felt his entire body swaying and on fire with how their fingers had so easily entwined and he’d looked at Armitage with such tenderness it had made his own heart ache. Even the unfixed, sparkling look in the former general’s eyes had made Ben weak at the knees. He’d still known it was better if they’d slept in their respective beds and sobered up. He’d been right; it had been for the best. If anything, it had solidified his feelings for Armitage and made him want to explore these flirtations.

It had all led up to the day by the lake and the night which followed. Ben had been able to put a name to his feelings but, of course, he’d thought it was too premature to bring them up. Despite this, he’d found himself unwilling and unable to let go of Armitage for a moment. He’d felt drugged and intoxicated by the other from the first kiss and he’d wanted nothing more than to kiss Armitage until he was no longer able to. He’d wanted to feel their bodies together. He’d wanted sex, of course, but something more important. He’d wanted to feel Armitage’s bare body against his own and memorized the feeling. Skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul. He’d wanted to fill his heart to the brim with the joy and love he’d felt the moment they had both been brave enough to kiss one another.

Love was the correct feeling. Lust was also appropriate but love overcame it all. Of course Ben was attracted to Armitage’s body. He was a handsome man. Ben supposed he’d felt that way from the start but he’d been distracted by a darker path and the thought that Hux had been his enemy and someone to overcome and make submit. Now he knew that was not true. Armitage wasn’t someone to subjugate but someone with equal standing and whom he held in high regard. There was respect between them and admiration for what the other brought to the table. Armitage brought his mind and his cautious nature. He wasn’t impulsive like Ben was and he always thought ahead with clear thought. He kept his goals within tangible reach and was quick to bring Ben down to reality if he’d lost his way. Ben, meanwhile, brought his own newborn view of the world and the readiness to try something new. He challenged Armitage to think of things differently and constantly cultivated an open dialogue between the two. Their ideas and values would never match up completely but at least they could speak of it. Arguments were bound to happen but it was the nature of who they were. What Ben loved most was that Armitage, however begrudgingly, heard him out. He didn’t judge him for his ideas and thoughts however much he disagreed with them. Even if he was disgusted by Ben’s perceived “softness”, Armitage didn’t shun him for it.

As they laid together in that bed for the first time, Ben had dared to think he could bear a life here. It was probably too premature to think of it but he dared to explore the idea. Rey didn’t need him. She was perfectly capable of following her own advice and aspirations to cultivate the next generation of Jedi. Ben, for all he’d tried to boast before, wasn’t a teacher. He didn’t have the patience like Rey or Armitage did. He felt like a ship adrift in space. He had nothing to anchor him down and he didn’t have the patience for minds who couldn’t understand his. In truth, he still didn’t entirely know who he was. He was still finding who Ben Solo was and where he fit into the universe.

The one thing he’d known for certain, in that moment, was that he belonged by Armitage’s side. He belonged in this bed and with the man he’d never expected to give his heart to.

But now that was all going to end.

Ben had told himself that not all visions came true. Not everything he’d heard through the veil of the Force or seen in his dreams came to pass. He would be able to create a life here with Armitage and live out the rest of his days on this planet living simply and with stability he’d never found until now. He’d even stopped speaking to Rey and the New Republic as often. Naively, he’d thought they wouldn’t reach out to him if he’d stopped contact. Ben realized he could have easily closed off the Force bond with Rey but he didn’t have it in his heart to do so. She was as important to him as Armitage was. He’d tried to explain as much to her the previous night but he could tell she didn’t understand him. Ben had told Rey not to come, to leave him on Arkanis. He’d stopped just short of explaining why or how much this place had come to mean to him. It was harder to vocalize it than he had thought.

He’d told Armitage not to go to town without him. He’d asked to come. He’d thought that, maybe, he could change the future with even one little gesture. One step in a different direction and they would be able to live this life together without worry of the New Republic or of changing this dynamic they’d grown into. Ben thought if he could ignore it all then he could have this new world and this new love he’d finally found. He could find his home at last.

Now he stood on the front lawn of the estate. The wind blew over his face and chilled his skin. Ben dismissed the cold as he stared ahead at the road, waiting. He could tell, from the feeling in the pit of his stomach, that the storm was coming back. He would confront it and not hide. Perhaps there was a way to make sure he could have the best of both worlds. Ben ran through versions of plans in his head, thinking of all possible outcomes. He thought of ways to stay as well as ways to leave but to bring Armitage with him and to ensure he was safe. It wasn’t Rey or the Republic he wanted to keep Armitage safe from but, rather, the public. No secret could be safe for long.

_Mom. Dad. What do I do?_

Ben’s brown eyes closed as he reached toward the Force or to whichever plane of existence the respective souls of his parents had fled to. He reached out for them. His heart expanded and opened to them.

_Help me._

The wind caressed his face and chilled his spine. Ben’s hair whipped around him, causing him to open his eyes. He saw nothing but felt everything. The icy chill stung his eyes and caused them to water. Even his spirit felt icy.

_I can’t do this alone. I need you._

Another caress of the wind. Ben blinked the stinging tears from his eyes and curled his fingers into his palms.

**_That’s just it, son. This is something you’ll have to do by yourself._ **

**_Follow your heart._ **

His throat closed as he swallowed. It tasted bitter.

As Ben stared ahead, waiting for inevitability, he felt his heart sinking like a stone to the unseen bottom of a lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	20. Chapter 20

Armitage decided he hated the muddied road to and from town. The sound of boots squelching into the mud, no matter how moist or dried it was, irritated him to the bone. No matter how small and silent it was, it caused his skin to crawl. Though if it was the sound of the boots to earth or the fact that Rey was walking on Arkanisian ground that annoyed him more, Armitage wouldn’t admit which it was. Both seemed to have equal weight the longer he considered it.

It had been evident that Rey was there to speak to Ben. She’d said so outright and was intent on withholding any other motivations from him until she saw Ben and spoke to him.

“He doesn’t want you here,” Armitage said for what could have been the sixth time in less than ten minutes. They were barely fifteen minutes away from the estate and his mind had been furiously working on ways to convince her to leave. “He doesn’t want to go anywhere.”

“Has he told you that?” Rey questioned. There was no genuine curiosity in her voice anymore. It was exhausted from the attempts at wearing her down.

Armitage could be a good interrogator when the moment called for it. He’d been so out of practice now that his mind was scrambling for good tactics to use against the scavenger. He didn’t have any evidence besides Ben’s contentment with being on Arkanis. That wasn’t exactly hard evidence; at least, it wouldn’t be in a tribunal. Words and solid evidence were better. It wasn’t as if Ben had sealed his desire in writing or given Armitage something which would show Rey he didn’t want to go back to the New Republic. All Armitage had to show for it was an account of eavesdropping. Even then, it wasn’t as if Rey would believe him.

He shot at look at the scavenger girl as they walked and as he formulated his response. He’d never seen her in person before; only in holographic images. She was slimmer in person and about five inches shorter than himself. Her hair was held in a half-tied up and half down style. Her hair went a few inches past her shoulders and softened her features. It enhanced her femininity but it didn’t take away from the determination in her eyes. Not that it took away her beauty and femininity. Armitage knew plenty of women within the First Order who didn’t need to be feminine to be beautiful. Their energy, power, and what they did with it made them beautiful. It made them exquisite beings that fascinated Armitage from afar. Rae Sloane had been such a woman. Armitage had always been taken aback by her confidence and her leadership. Her natural beauty had been enhanced by this control over every situation she came across and every being who stood in her way. Her protective nature over him, too, had endeared Armitage to her. It had been subtle but, upon reflection, it had always been there.

Now, Armitage thought, that was exactly what Rey was trying to do. She thought she was protecting Ben. Even further, she thought she was protecting the New Republic.

“He doesn’t have to tell me,” Armitage responded. He was imbued with confidence now. He’d figured it out. “Showing is more impactful than telling.”

Rey’s eyes blinked and she held Armitage’s gaze for a few moments as if examining his mind. On the off-chance she did, the former general steeled himself. His hand closed over the bag of purchased items as if they could give him the strength and the ammunition to fight back against this battle of wills and perspectives.

“You don’t know who he is. You never have.” Came Armitage’s confident words. He was goading her now. “A mere few months of knowing him is nothing against six years of knowing him, living with him, studying him.”

Rey was silent as she observed him. Her gaze was hard but there was a gentility in her eyes that betrayed the steel. Something in the back of Armitage’s head dared to think she was waiting for him to say something foolish so she could contradict him. He readied himself for retaliation; armored himself from toe to topful with retorts, evidence, and facts that would prove him right and her wrong. The hopes he dared not admit were that she would wear down and leave them be. Then they could be in peace. To Armitage, Rey was nothing more than a nuisance who needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. All that mattered was what method would deal with her effectively and quickly.

He did not dare wait for a response. He jumped at the chance to destroy her.

“He will not yield. Nor will I.”

“I know that’s what you want from me,” Rey answered. Her response was smooth but had a jagged, cutting edge. “But there’s things about him you will never understand because you won’t let yourself. Because you think it’s weakness, but it isn’t. He’s never been weak.”

They had stopped walking and were facing one another. There was barely an arm’s length separating them. “His weakness was letting you in. He could have been great, you know?”

“Destroying an entire galaxy? Destroying his soul in the process? That was what made him great?” Her dark brows furrowed. “You’re talking about a dead dream.”

A dream, nevertheless. It was a dream Armitage often dreamt and woke to find himself minorly disappointed that it was not a reality. He often thought himself foolish to dream so longingly of an alternate ending to their story. Dreams often died before they could even be properly conceived. Armitage had dreamt many such dreams. Even still, he’d found himself slipping into these weak dreams ever so often. He couldn’t remember all of them entirely but he’d known they had existed.

Rey continued. “It would have killed him. He’s not you. He will never be _you_. And that’s why he needs to come home.” She paused. “And you can go with him.”

“So I can be dragged through the streets and paraded as your prop?” Scowled the former general. “I’d rather die.”

There was no response to that. There was only that nausea-inducing look of pity in the girl’s eyes. Armitage gathered she was at least ten years younger than him if not twelve years younger. “You’re a child. You don’t know how the world works.”

“Clearly, I do. Otherwise I would be dead and you wouldn’t be here. Nor would Ben,” Rey quickly retorted. She stepped by him and continued to move forward.

Armitage ground his teeth and felt a soreness beginning in his jaw. Another problem to deal with. Wonderful. He caught up to the girl in two strides and kept his eyes locked forward.

There was an unending curiosity that turned to dread with each step. The girl’s mission was obviously to bring Ben back to Chandrila. Damn if Armitage would go or not, Ben was going to leave with her. The expectation of Ben’s reaction added weight to the dread in Armitage’s chest and stomach. It pressed down on his chest and lungs and made the man feel as if his heart was skipping necessary beats. Then the world felt as if it was slowly melting around him, yet his singular existence was staying still and vibrant. It terrified him. But he kept the terror at bay as they walked up the road and saw the familiar path to the estate. It brought Armitage momentary solace until they reached the Servant’s House.

He didn’t notice Rey looking at the house and pausing for a second. All he was fixated on was the sight of a figure standing on his property; of Ben standing on the property.

_He knew_.

The sinking feeling was replaced by a violent plunging of dread. The anchor dropped deep into his marrow and his soul as the realization hit him. It wasn’t paranoia; it couldn’t be. Not with how Ben had reacted earlier. Not with how he had mentioned the storm coming when not even a storm cloud was in the sky.

Familiar fire burned his gut as he came to this realization. It made him want to drop the bag or, better yet, bury it in the earth so it wouldn’t be found for generations. Bury the items he’d bought with such care for this man. That was what spite was driving him to do. But he ignored the spiteful desire and continued to walk toward the only certainty he knew at the moment.

The closer he walked, the clearer Ben’s features could be made out. His expression was not entirely blank yet not entirely filled with emotion. He didn’t even seem to recognize Armitage as he walked up to him. Rather, he seemed to be focused on Rey, who was barely six feet from Armitage.

Armitage stopped before Ben and said nothing. His hand was closed around the bag and his fingers pressed into the canvas. Finally, Ben looked at him. It was barely the movement of his head. It didn’t feel as if his full attention was given to the red-haired man before him. It was clear he wished to look at Rey. That very notion angered Armitage.

What could he say to Ben? What could he say or do that was appropriate for the moment? Nothing. Clearly, there was nothing. Ben had not been truthful. Ben had to have known something. Armitage, for his part, could have inquired as to what had bothered Ben. Hell, he could have not gone into town. It was possible this entire situation could have been avoided had he not gone in or brought Ben with him. A simple change in decision-making could have changed the events leading up to today.

It was Armitage who finally spoke. “I have what you needed.”

Ben inclined his head but said nothing. His eyes didn’t meet the former general’s. They skimmed over his head to Rey.

Armitage tried something else. “You’re not wearing a coat.”

Ben merely blinked in response. His body locked up as the thought impacted him; as if it were now feeling the chill. “Oh.”

_That’s all you have to say? Oh?_

Swallowing his anger, Armitage looked over his shoulder then to Ben. “Let’s go inside.”

His hand touched the man’s shoulder as he encouraged him to turn his body toward the estate, but Ben would not budge. “She’s coming inside,” he finally responded.

“No, she’s not. It’s my house. She is not coming inside.”

“She wants to talk, Armitage.” Ben’s voice was irrationally calm. There was acceptance in there. “She only wants to talk.”

“We both know what she wants,” hissed Armitage _Do not give into her._

But Ben was nowhere near his mind. He was nowhere near his thoughts or identifying the urgency Armitage felt. He was looking at her—at Rey.

The betrayal cut deeper than any knife or any blaster bolt.

* * *

The bag was carelessly given to X-3 when Armitage came inside. Instead of going to his office, Armitage found himself going to the library with a one-track mind on the decanter that was there. His fingers were fumbling and unsteady as he took off the topper and grasped a glass. Another thought seized him: _damn the glass._

The mouth of the decanter went straight to his lips and the liquor felt inviting as it slid down his throat. Armitage had been holding his breath as he drank and felt the ability quickly waning. He’d finished three-quarters of the decanter by the time he gulped down fresh air into his lungs. The decanter slammed down on the desk, sending a sharp echo through the room. His eyes were widened, though he didn’t quite realize it. Almost everything in his body was straining as tension pulsed through him. The liquor was not doing the desired effect, a fact which convinced him to finish the decanter.

Nothing was at peace. His spirit was not at peace. How could it be with that girl stepping into _his_ home and disturbing his peace? She was upending everything.

Funny, the liquor tasted like water. There was no nuance of flavor and no hidden bitter aftertaste. It tasted bland. It was all tasteless, flavorless. It was pointless.

Armitage set the empty decanter down and stared at it for a moment longer than was necessary. He pushed his hand through his hair to fix it even though nothing had been moved out of place. Or perhaps it had and he hadn’t noticed. Armitage realized he didn’t have much to trust any longer. Who was he to know what was true and what was false?

Conspiracies began to move through his mind as he stared at the empty crystal. It was paranoia and he told himself that. It was mindless paranoia, but not unfounded. It couldn’t be; not with the scavenger being here and how Ben was acting. Especially not with how he was acting now. Even the few seconds of seeing his behavior was enough to send Armitage into this frenzy. He put his hand to his chest as he felt his heart going against his chest and ribcage. It was as if it was trying to rip itself free. It needed to be free and away from the agony and strain.

His head snapped up and his head turned to see a droid walking by the door. Suddenly the rage he felt was directed at the LEP droid. One moment, his hand was grasping the decanter. The next moment, the decanter was broken against it. The droid whirred and stumbled over itself in surprise then looked at its master. Armitage’s body was vibrating from the realization of what he had done. The glass was shattered across the floor; littering the walkable area.

“Clean it up,” Armitage said as he stalked out of the library and by the droid, which beeped in response.

If he was hoping to avoid notice or confrontation, he found those hopes dashed when he entered the Great Hall. Ben and Rey were standing there clearly in conversation. Rey’s eyes were on him and Ben’s head slowly turned to see Armitage. The emotion was not quite clear. For the first time in quite a long time, Armitage couldn’t tell how Ben was feeling.

That is what frightened him.

“Finish your conversation, then leave. I don’t want you here longer than you’ve already been here.” At least Armitage had calmed himself down enough to say that. He was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol already. He hadn’t eaten since earlier that morning, after all. But it was minor, now, compared to the intentions he had for later.

“She needs a room, Armitage,” Ben replied. His voice was even and calm as well. It was as if they were speaking about the weather.

“To hell she does,” growled the former general. “She’s not staying here.”

“We just need time to speak, Armitage.”

“Have your time right now and then tell her to leave.”

“Excuse me,” Rey said, stepping between the two men, “but you can speak to me directly. You can give me respect.”

Scoffing, Armitage stepped forward to confront her. His eyes narrowed and he asked coldly, “What have you done to earn my respect?”

“Enough, both of you!”

Ben stood between them now. Remarkably, he only touched Armitage’s chest to hold him at bay. That scored a small victory in Armitage’s mind. It wasn’t enough to forgive these trespasses but he could be generous enough to mark it as a victory for Ben.

Ben’s attention went to Armitage. “Armitage,” he said, “this isn’t going to take one day. Rey’s going to have one of the guest rooms and we’re going to have the time to speak.” His eyes moved just over the red-haired man’s shoulder. “Wait, was that the decanter?”

“She’s not staying longer than two days,” Armitage insisted, eyes trained on Ben. His pointed fingers pressed into the man’s chest. “Two.” 

He dared look at Rey for a moment. She was still watching him, examining him. He hated it. He hated how calm she was and how it made him feel. He hated her very presence and how Ben accepted it. He hated his tolerance of her. Even worse, he hated his desire to have her stay.

“You take the farthest room on the second floor. I think the one at the very end of the hallway will suffice.” His voice was sickly polite.

He didn’t look at Ben, who was giving him an expression of disappointment. Armitage knew it was rather pathetic to challenge Rey in such a manner but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to fully accept this. If there was any way to resist, this was it. He reveled in this small bit of control he had. Even still, Rey’s “thank you” drove an icy stake into Armitage’s chest. He hated to be thanked by her.

“X-3 will prepare the room for you,” Ben said to Rey.

The muted fondness disgusted Armitage. “It doesn’t have to be prepared. She can take it or leave.”

“X-3 will prepare a room for her. In the meantime, she and I can talk.”

“What, and I can’t know? It’s my house, Ben. I will not have _scheming_ in my own house,” snarled Armitage. He pressed his fingers into the man’s chest again as if stabbing him.

“Armitage,” Ben started. Rey’s brows lifted a minuscule at the gentility and pleading. Not that Armitage bothered to notice or care, at that point.

“I won’t have it.”

Ben’s voice hushed. “You’re being paranoid. Give us some time. Please.”

_Paranoid. You’re being paranoid._

That lit the fires of rage. But Ben seemed to quell them as he went face-to-face with Armitage and grasped his upper arm. “Listen to me.”

“You should have told me,” hissed the former general. “You should have told me.”

Regret was clear in Ben’s eyes. Now Armitage could finally see that familiar emotion. It didn’t assuage his fears at all as it normally did. What was there to trust in that emotion? For all Armitage knew, Ben was upset he’d been caught. Caught for what, he wasn’t entirely certain on. His brain was still moving at light speed and it was disorienting.

“Give us some time to talk.” Ben suddenly decided. “An hour. Give us an hour and then we can all talk together.” The hand on Armitage’s arm squeezed in reassurance. It did not work to its desired effect. “Please.”

He could easily say no. He could rebel and he could crush Ben where he stood. Then he could move onto Rey and do the same thing. What he would give to see the observational look wiped off her face. He hated feeling as if he were being studied. He’d never liked being watched, never. He hadn’t liked it as a child nor as a low-ranking officer. He hadn’t liked it as a general and he sure as hell didn’t like it now.

“—Fine.” Armitage wrenched himself from Ben’s grasp. He composed himself and shot a glare at Rey before saying, “I’ll be in my office.”

He could feel Ben’s fingers stretching to his wrist but he ignored the gesture as he walked away with the swagger he once had on the _Finalizer_. The memory was not lost on him and it made him long for his general’s garb; for his greatcoat and tunic as well as his hat and gloves. All of these things, which included his boots, had once made him feel so strong and powerful. What was so powerful about a simple shirt and trousers? What could be said about his simple outdoors coat? No whispers would remark how intimidating Armitage looked in that. He was simply ordinary in such attire. Not at all did he feel extraordinary.

X-3 was on the second floor as Armitage arrived. “X-3,” he commanded, “you’ll bring me a cup of tea. Then make up the rooms at the very end of the hall. We have a guest who will be staying for two days.”

“A guest, Master Armitage?”

“Yes.” There was nothing more to that. Armitage continued to his office and closed the door, locking it then unlocking and locking it again to be sure.

Armitage wrung his wrists then brought his right thumb to each of his knuckles; cracking them rapidly. He walked around to his desk and sat down, slumping in his chair as he took the time to think. Actually it wasn’t necessarily time to think. It was more time to be silent and still before he reached for the papers in which he’d been logging schematics and notes of his First Order work. He smoothed his hands over the top page then began to read through in order to make sure everything was up to his standards. He scanned his neat handwriting and the drawings to ensure not a line was out of place. He read over the instructions and notations on the off-chance something was miswritten. There were no mistakes; everything was written down from memory. Everything he could currently think of and remember was down on those pages.

He tapped his pen against the paper then sat back in his seat. Armitage’s hands rested on his abdomen and his eyes directed toward the edge of his desk. Even so, focus was not to remain. His vision went blurry and his thoughts traveled toward self-preservation.

It wasn’t shocking that Armitage’s first thoughts were how to get rid of Rey permanently. That was the immediate tactic he went toward. Then he thought of Ben and how he felt fondness toward her. Armitage couldn’t understand it. If someone was against one’s ideals, why would they be held in such regard? If Armitage was in Ben’s place, he wouldn’t have let Rey even near the planet’s atmosphere. He would have threatened her with all of his might.

_But that’s where you’re wrong. It’s where you’ve always been wrong, **boy**_.

This time, he could feel his eyes widening. His muscles tensed painfully. It had to be of his own mind’s creation. It wasn’t real. Of course it wasn’t. He hadn’t heard the voice of his father in many months.

_You’re weak. Just like her. Just like him. You’ve always been soft. I knew it from the day you were born._

His chest clenched and Armitage pinched the fabric of his collar, ensuring it was loose around his neck. He began to overcompensate with his breathing and took deeper gulps of air. He could feel his lungs inflating and pressing against his chest as he went to battle with this reemerging voice.

_You were weak to think he cared. You are weak to think he’ll stay. You’ll see._

The voice had begun to distort. It wasn’t just his father’s now. It was also his own. Armitage blinked the unfixed focus away and leaned his elbows against his desk. His right knuckles began to tap on his desk. One two three four, one two three four.

_You can’t drum me out. I am a part of you. I will always be here. I am you. I made you, **boy**._

His full fist pounded on the desk and he seethed through grounded teeth. Suddenly, he felt as if he’d been shocked and stabbed at the same time as if by an electrified weapon. Instinctively, his hand went to his chest. It was as if he could feel the sharp, electrified pressure impale him. It wasn’t a blaster bolt, no—it was something even worse that filled him with this dread.

Images flashed across his eyes; a dark room, a scrap of patchwork cloth, the sound of a door opening and bellowing. The feeling of being ridiculed and thrown against a wall as well as his little bones aching and cracking from the force. His nose breaking and blood trailing to his lips. The feeling of wanting to run away to the lake at the very edge of the property and never coming back. The feeling of being unwanted and unloved.

Armitage pulled himself back to reality and gasped raggedly. He stood and braced his hands on his desk, lunging forward to conduct his energy into where his hands were grounded. Then, almost immediately, an impulse came to swipe his notes off his desk. Papers fluttered around him in a dizzying black-and-white flurry as he realized what he had done. He hadn’t numbered the pages, either. Nothing was numbered. He’d expected it all to be bound at some point and not scattered across his office.

As he came to this realization, the door opened. X-3 stood there with the cup of tea and that irritating blank expression that Armitage despised. How had X-3 opened the door? Armitage then realized the droid had been around the estate longer than he had, cumulatively. It could unlock doors if it wanted to. This recollection only enraged him and he directed this to the droid. “Get out!”

“Your tea, sir—“

“I don’t want the goddamn tea! Get the hell out of my office!”

Armitage stalked toward the door and forced it shut. He could hear the whirring of the droid and what could only be determined to be mutterings as it mentioned something about almost being electrocuted by the tea. Good; perhaps the droid should be electrocuted. Perhaps all of them should be. What use did he have for any of them when he’d been doing everything himself? He’d always been a survivor. He could survive this. Armitage always endured.

But even still, his heart weighed so heavily on his chest. It was solid, heavy, and sure. It ached with fear because of how intensely he did not want Ben to change his mind. He did not want Ben to listen to a thing Rey had to say. It was a selfish desire, yes, and he knew that. He knew how selfish it was for Ben to stay. But it was true, wasn’t it? Everything they had experienced together and felt toward one another was true. Why did it need a name? Why did any of it need to be said when living it was more than enough? They didn’t need to talk about anything. Ben only had to show Rey why he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t need to discuss anything.

But what if he did say something? What if he admitted how he felt to Ben? Would it convince him to send Rey away?

But that was a weakness. It was weak to admit such things aloud. Why bother saying it when actions spoke louder?

Armitage locked his door again and rest his back against it. He looked at his feet to see he’d stepped on his papers. A wave of overwhelming stress crashed over him as he looked over the mess of notes. He simply didn’t have the energy to pick them up. Even still, Armitage forced himself to bend down and pick them up one by one. One, two, three pages. Then one, two, three more. It was all he could do for now.

* * *

“You two are more similar than I thought.” Glass crunched under Rey’s foot. The LEP droids were trying their best to clean it but the smallest shards often were left behind.

“I don’t tend to do that now, either,” Ben commented. He was two steps ahead of her in the library. “Though I broke a chair.”

“Why did you break a chair?”

Ben lauded her a look then gestured for Rey to sit on the couch. It was hard for him not to think of how Armitage could be upset that Rey was sitting on _his_ couch. He understood why the other man felt so strongly. After all, Armitage had been indoctrinated by the First Order since he was a child. It was similar to how Ben had been indoctrinated by Snoke and, too, by Luke. They’d both been victimized and manipulated as children. They hadn’t been given the chance to find their own perspectives on life and what they valued.

For his part, Ben couldn’t sit. He felt better standing. His eyes trained on the droid cleaning the rest of the smaller glass pieces. “Reasons.”

“That’s specific.” Rey sat down and looked up at him. Ben didn’t look at her directly in the eyes. He felt that, in times like this, her gaze pierced right through him. She knew him entirely. She knew his mind and his soul. They were a dyad, after all, and they had bonded through this. No one else in the world could possibly know what they had gone through and continued to go through. They depended on one another, even if Ben had started to question that.

Questioning was okay but the longer Ben spent away from Rey and living this new life, the more he questioned if he wanted to return to what he’d had before.

Ben’s arms folded across his chest. “Say it.”

“You know what I ideally want to happen.” Rey’s hands braced on the cushions of the couch. “You to come back. There’s a lot of work we still have to do. There are planets that are still under First Order influence.”

“Then the Council can send military intervention,” Ben muttered. “That doesn’t concern me.”

Rey leaned forward. “There are others like us. Others who are strong in the Force but do not know it. They need us.”

“You think they’re going to listen to the former Supreme Leader? Rey—“ Ben felt his fingers tapping against the side of his thigh. “I told you that I’m needed here.”

He watched Rey’s brow raise. “Needed to clean up after Hux’s tantrums?”

“Armitage doesn’t throw tantrums,” corrected Ben firmly.

“Ben, he’s not going to leave. He made that clear to you and I both.” Rey stood this time and walked to his side. “He’s not leaving, no matter what we offer him. You said it yourself countless times. There’s no reason to stay here.”

Ben snapped, “You’re missing the point that I said I wanted to stay. And that I am needed here.”

He felt something warm against his chest. It seemed to flow from himself to Rey as they stood face-to-face. Rey’s face softened as she searched his face and searched his open, vulnerable heart.

“—I know.” She lowered his eyes a moment to look at his tapping fingers. Ben didn’t become self-conscious about it. Rey said gently, “But sometimes we have to make sacrifices. We all do.”

Ben nodded. “I understand that. I’m not saying you haven’t sacrificed anything. I haven’t, either.” He stepped to her and felt the urge to reach toward her, to touch her arm.

Rey seemed to break into a muted smile at the familiarity. “What are you feeling?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I want you to tell me,” she insisted. It wasn’t forceful and Ben was thankful for that. Rey could be forceful if she wanted but she didn’t pressure him; not like everyone else. “What are you feeling?”

Ben wanted to fidget and look around but he grounded himself to Rey’s presence. She anchored his focus and gave him the courage to speak, even when he felt his throat closing and the emotions welling up. “I—“

He felt a gentle push. It wasn’t physical but spiritual. It felt like a push of bravery. **_Follow your heart_**.

Ben made himself look at Rey as he spoke: “I want to be there for you. I want to help you.”

“But?” Rey asked.

“—But Armitage needs me here. And I want to be here.”

He could feel himself shaking. He could feel himself untether from where Rey had grounded him. His emotions were betraying the desire to be present and solid. “I want to be here, with him.”

“Because?” Came another gentle, non-probing question.

Ben’s head shook and he looked toward the window. Rain hadn’t fallen yet. It was still overcast. It was the only certain thing he knew at the moment. “I can’t. Not right now."

“Okay. Okay.” Rey nodded and touched his arms. Ben couldn’t bother deciphering the look on her face right now. He didn’t have the energy to focus on her. His focus was on the man upstairs and the decision he had to make.

“I can’t—” Ben continued shaking his head. He heard Rey whispering something akin to “I know” and then felt her embrace him. His arms went around her to hold her there but he did not close his eyes or relax into it as he might have before. He felt as if he were floating in the vacuum of space, desperately wishing and reaching for something to tether him down.

Following his heart didn’t seem so simple any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	21. Chapter 21

An hour hadn’t been enough. In fact, Ben and Rey spoke in the library for nearly two hours before standing and moving outside for at least another hour and a half. They hadn’t encountered Armitage at all, though the thought of bringing him down had been imbedded in Ben’s mind. It was only right, after all, and he had promised. But there was so much he knew Armitage was going to shoot down and argue. He needed to prepare Rey for a civil, albeit tense conversation with the former general. Rey didn’t like Armitage nor did Armitage like Rey. That was not going to change at all. Ben needed to keep this terse peace while also figure out what the best course of action was for himself. Ben wasn’t necessarily easy to persuade, per se. Though that was hard to judge considering his decision making development had been impeded by Snoke and Palpatine’s influences. He was a late bloomer in the decision-making department. He knew he needed to consider the future and his next course of action. Emotion needed to play a part but so did reason. He needed to be reasonable; he needed to make hard decisions.

He and Rey spoke of many thing; how the New Republic was specifically doing, how Poe and Finn were planning on liberating other planets and groups from the last scraps of First Order rule. How Rey intended on going to these worlds and finding other Force users to train. Ben did have to admit that she had a right idea, but part of him was still haunted by Luke’s academy. There was a large chance this would be different, however. Rey did not have the same biases Luke had. Even still, Ben still contained those worries and those memories and they were valid concerns. Though, when he voiced them to Rey, he agreed with her that it was all the more incentive to train these Force users in a grey area. Black and white decision making and thought processes were what contributed to the cyclical nature of instability. There had to be a middle ground that would produce users who served the in-between.

It didn’t make any of his decisions easier to make. He knew Armitage would have trouble coming around to these ideas.

For as much as Armitage had ventured ‘into the grey’, there was so much of him stuck in the old way of thinking. Ben could see it and he knew Armitage was cognoscente of it. Even still, it was clear he didn’t agree with strictly middle-of-the-road thinking.

When he and Rey returned, Ben immediately went to the library to see if Armitage had ventured down there to wait for him. No one was in there. Ben left Rey in there to look through as he searched for Armitage. He encountered X-3 when he got to the second floor.

“Have you seen Armitage?” He asked the droid.

“Master Armitage is in his study, Master Ben. I do not suggest disturbing him. He is in a foul mood, if I may say so.”

“He’s been like that all day,” Ben confirmed, arms moving across his chest as if shielding himself already. “He broke the decanter.”

“He refused tea, sir.”

Now that was concerning. Armitage never refused tea. It was his life’s blood. Ben was certain Armitage’s blood was half tea and half caf at this point. “Did he?” Asked Ben. X-3 made a sound of confirmation.

The last he knew Armitage had eaten at breakfast this morning. It was well beyond midday and nearly evening. If he wasn’t even drinking tea or caf, then it didn’t bode well for the man. Especially considering his reactions toward this new situation.

Ben gesticulated toward Armitage’s office, raising a brow as he silently questioned the droid who gave a jerking nodding gesture. He walked beyond X-3 toward Armitage’s office, rapping his knuckles on the door before trying the door handle. Locked. That wasn’t surprising. Ben waited a few seconds before knocking again and stepping back on the off-chance Armitage opened the door. It took a minute or two for the door to open and to meet the face of his clearly irritated companion.

The door opened to about Armitage’s shoulder and he looked rather displeased to be interrupted. His hair wasn’t exactly disheveled, per se, but it was not coiffed as it typically was. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows and there were ink stains on the sides of his hand. Of course there was the unmistakable scowl gracing the red-haired man’s features, which reveal small lines of aging by his eyes and on his forehead. But Ben knew all too well those lines disappeared when Armitage was not as displeased as he was now.

“What is it? I’m rather busy.” Armitage did not open the door any further.

“When aren’t you?” Ben only moved his hand to touch the door and he noticed Armitage steady himself and tether to the ground. His expression was set in stone. There was no mistaking his intentions. “Rey and I have finished speaking.”

That didn’t change Armitage’s expression. Ben noticed how the slight age lines on the outside of his eyes deepened, exposing themselves more as he frowned.

“That took longer than an hour,” he replied curtly. “And you said it would take an hour.”

Ben’s shoulders gave a useless shrug. “I’ve never been good with timing.”

Armitage shot back, “That’s apparent.” It wounded Ben more than he thought it would.

Ben muted that point and pressed his palm flat against the door as he took half a step forward. “X-3 said you didn’t have anything. No tea.”

“Are you depending on the feedback of droids, now?” Armitage still did not move. _Stubborn bastard._ “I was busy. And _am_ busy.”

“You always have tea while you work. Tea or caf.” Ben kept his trajectory forward. He applied the slightest bit of pressure to the door. “Can we talk?”

“I thought you wanted to speak with the girl present.”

“Can you use her name?”

“Why should I? Using a name denotes respect. I do not respect her.”

This exasperated Ben. “She’s not a bad person, Armitage.”

“She was, is, and will continue to be,” argued the former general in a dangerously calm voice. Ben had never liked when Armitage’s voice got like that. It didn’t mean anything good for any person involved. “And she’s a girl. The girl who, in case you’ve forgotten, helped destroy everything. Where we could be now if she hadn’t existed.”

“Not here, you mean?” Ben challenged.

That gave Armitage pause to think. It had caught him off-guard but he recovered decently well. “Yes,” he answered, “not here. Ruling the galaxy, the way it was supposed to be ruled.”

“Where would that have left us?” Ben genuinely questioned. “We would have killed each other instead of becoming like this.”

“Like what?” There was a sudden edge to Armitage’s voice; a coldness and harshness that blew Ben back like a strong wind. “Elaborate.” He folded his arms tightly across his chest, no longer seeming to care about blocking Ben’s entrance. Still, there wasn’t enough room for Ben to slide in.

Ben collected himself with a deep breath, filling his lungs with new oxygen and reenergizing himself for this disagreement. “I care—“

There was the unmistakable rolling of those green eyes and it infuriated Ben. Armitage wasn’t even trying to hide his displeasure, much as he had when they had been aboard the _Finalizer_ together. He adopted elements of his former persona. “And you’re the one who calls _me_ a child. You’re not even listening to me. Take your own advice and be the mature one, Armitage.”

He continued, “The three of us can talk about this when you’ve calmed down. Rey’s in the library.” A pause. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. You don’t have to shut yourself away in that goddamn office like you used to.” _Because that isn’t who you are anymore. At least, that’s what I thought._

Of course he didn’t voice those thoughts aloud. Ben held Armitage’s hardened look for longer than was comfortable. It was reminiscent of another life; one lived seemingly eons ago. It was almost as if Ben could feel the skin of Kylo Ren covering his own and invading his marrow like a disease. If he let his mind wander, he could even hallucinate the First Order style tunic and greatcoat donning Armitage’s figure. They were right back to where they started.

It was a realization he didn’t want to confront, nor did he want to confront it. Ben’s eyes blinked twice to clear the hallucination before he turned to leave. There was no being stopped; no hand reaching out to keep him there nor pleading voice asking him to talk. Armitage wouldn’t grant him that; especially not now. Ben let go of his disappointment as he went back to the stairs and descended back to the Great Hall. He needed space to think. He needed to not be in the estate. He needed freedom.

That’s why he didn’t go to Rey. He went straight out the front door and took the long way around to the South Woods, walking to the left of the property and walking a half circle until he reached the path going to the woods.

The sky was darkening as it was reaching evening now. Ben knew he should go back inside but he resisted that familiarity and routine. There was no routine anymore and no familiarity. If anything, that familiarity had put them in this situation. It had been too comfortable and too certain. They’d been lulled into this false sense of security without wanting to look at reality. Ben had tried to avoid it and put it off for far too long, and this is where it had gotten them. He’d failed them both. Nothing would ever be the same, no matter what course of action he took.

Coursing through Ben’s veins, now, was disappointment and hatred. Not toward Armitage but toward himself. Armitage could have been an unfortunate target for this anger. Ben’s thoughts dared to blame Armitage for making this decision so difficult. _If he’d only agreed to come with me. We wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening._

He wished he’d had his lightsaber. The urge to destroy something so brutally struck him like a fatal blow. He could almost see himself sinking the blade into the earth or into a tree. The vision of the blue blade impaling into some poor fish in the serpentine lake was tempting to fulfil, but that would involve him going back inside and confronting either Rey, Armitage, or a droid. In this state, where he felt that addicting anger overtaking him, Ben did not think it wise to pursue this vision.

Instead, his closed and white-knuckled fist found a tree. The wood and bark licked his knuckles and broke the skin. The pain was evident but it fueled him. Ben felt his head shake out of his own control. His entire body shuddered as if being overtaken by some foreign force. It was as if he could feel his pupils dilate as he sent his fist into the same spot again and again until he felt the warm, thick blood starting to coat his knuckles and the skin become raw and worn from the repeated punching. _It’ll heal. It will heal and it will be as if nothing happened. Nobody needs to know about it._

But Rey would know. She knew everything. Hell, Ben wasn’t blocking their connection and was certain she could feel his emotions. He wondered how much of this future she had seen. Had she seen this? Had she predicted this? How much control and foresight did she have that Ben was not privy to?

Now that sounded like Armitage’s paranoid thoughts. Ben drew his hand away and looked at it as he felt the throbbing of the raw skin. His fingers flexed and folded into his palm as he examined the damage. There was a frankly raw and gross mixture of the dirt and bark in the raw, bleeding flesh. Ben’s throat cleared and he pressed his left thumb against the first three knuckles on his hand. Inhaling and exhaling three times, Ben channeled his own energy into healing himself. There was the unmistakable twitch and brief catching of breath that accompanied the quick healing. Ben still wasn’t used to it. He’d needed to practice but it hadn’t exactly been his priority. He’d done it with Armitage but that had been a bigger deal. It hadn’t been selfish; it had been to help someone he cared about.

Why should he care about himself right now? He’d only brought trouble for both sides. He’d brought trouble to Armitage by upending his life. He’d brought trouble to Rey by, well, simply not staying dead.

Then it was as if he felt someone slapping the back of his head. Ben couldn’t resist the recognition and the conflict it brought to his heart. “Sorry,” he said aloud, looking at the tree as he did. “I know. I know you did it for a reason. I can’t help thinking it.”

He turned his head over his shoulder and felt a familiar, maternal presence. It still gave him guilt to feel it but he forced himself to accept it.

“I know you can’t help me,” Ben said, keeping his voice low and quiet even though he was alone, “but it’s not easy. And I could really use your help right now. It’s easier said than done.”

He felt the aching in his chest. “---I’m being torn apart.”

The presence did not entirely fade but it did give him space. Ben understood the intention behind it but it didn’t make it any less difficult. He found himself longing for the days of his childhood when things had been good. He thought of when his father had come back from long trips and how he’d loved being spun around by the man he looked up to with so much unconditional love in his innocent heart. Ben thought of the rare moments where his mother and father got along and played with him until he grew drowsy and they put him to bed. Or, even better, when both of his parents had relented and let him sleep in their bed because he feared being away from them for a moment longer than he already had to be. Ben had felt so safe and cared for. He hadn’t had to worry about anything besides when he was going to see his parents again. His parents had done everything in their power to keep him happy and safe—regardless of how flawed they had been in the execution. Ben had realized too little too late how much he’d needed them to steer him in the right direction and how he wished he could have them here in moments like this.

His chest tightened and his eyes burned from more than the cold. Ben cleared his throat twice and wiped those unshed tears from his eyes as if he were a little boy again. _It’s not fair. I don’t want to do this._ He wanted to throw a tantrum. He didn’t want to make this decision. His heart was being pulled in two different directions and he didn’t know how to compromise without breaking the bonds with the people he loved the most.

The sky darkened even more by the time Ben freed himself from his thoughts. He stared at the distant light of what he knew was the library. He wondered if Rey was in there alone or if Armitage was with her. The very thought churned his stomach.

Ben checked in with the presence. She was gone. That was okay, he finally decided. He couldn’t expect her to help whenever he needed her. Even if she had been alive, Ben knew that his mother would let him figure things out on his own. He understood; or, at least, he was trying to. But at times like this, Ben grieved over how much he really did need his mom and dad. He would grieve for the rest of his days, however long or short they would be. But it wouldn’t serve him to dwell in this grief. He needed to act and to move forward. It was time he figured things out on his own without the influence of others; even if that meant trying, failing, and disappointing the ones he loved most.

* * *

When Ben returned, he entered through the basement. His hand grazed lightly against the walls and the doors he passed. A sudden feeling of nausea and a surge of violence caused him to shudder and take pause. Ben turned his head and looked at one door in particular. His palm pressed flat against it as he absorbed this feeling again. He swore he could hear distant pleading and muffled shrieking. Low, guttural noises that made him sick as well as soft, cooing whispers. The feeling of warmth and conflicted emotions flowed through his veins and the unmistakable feeling of regret that Ben knew so well. Only, he didn’t. This was a different regret and there was a different longing.

The next feelings he felt were fury and fear. His body flinched and he found himself touching his own head in reaction to blurry images that danced between his conscious and unconscious mind. The feeling of his hair being violently pulled and a sharp, boney hand against his face and a harder pressure against his ribs. More shame and then the desire to hide; the desire to bottle up everything he’d felt and lock it away like this room was locked away. The desire to never return and never confront this forbidden part of his life.

It left him breathless and ill as well as infuriated. Ben had the impulse, too, to lock it all away and forget he’d been confronted with this vague knowledge.

But that would be the easy thing to do. That would be the easy thing for Ben to do. It would be an even easier, more natural thing for another man to do. It was his survival method, after all.

* * *

His hunger pains were too much to ignore. They impaired his focus and ordered him to seek out some nourishment before his senses shut down. Armitage buttoned his blazer and held it against his body as he stood from his desk and left the room to go downstairs. This confrontation and the conversation that followed were now inevitable. There was no way to ignore what was to come. But he couldn’t hold such a conversation if he didn’t have food in his stomach and a reasonable mind. Well, as reasonable a mind as he could have while under such duress.

Armitage expected that X-3 had made up the girl’s room. Rey. Rey’s room. Though Armitage did not like calling her that, he knew it would have to be a concession in order to get her to leave. He would have to strategize how he approached this conversation as well as how he made sure Ben remained on his side. This was no different than war. Armitage was good at war; he was good at negotiations. This was the role he was born for and, while he had been out of practice, it didn’t mean the skills weren’t there. Now in order to wake them up, he needed a full stomach.

Of course, he would have to confront Rey and Ben in the ballroom while they all ate. Though part of him hoped that Rey would elect to eat elsewhere or not be hungry. Of course, that was a nice dream and a nice thought to have. Unfortunately, he would have to learn to not get his hopes up for anything.

It was encouraging to only see Ben when he reached the basement. They were at opposite ends; Armitage being by the kitchen while Ben was by the door leading out to the back of the property. Neither man smiled as they saw one another. Armitage would say he more grimaced rather than smiled before ducking his head into the kitchen to prepare something.

Though he was hungry, he could not decide for the life of him what he wanted to eat. As hungry as he was, nothing seemed appetizing. Armitage mindlessly looked through the refrigerated food and the non-refrigerated food while he heard Ben come in. The footsteps were hesitant and didn’t carry the darker haired man any closer to Armitage as their close relationship had once permitted. They seemed miles apart and it had only taken about a week to create this gulf. How the mighty did fall.

Armitage said nothing either way to Ben’s presence as he settled on stew and bread. He turned on the stovetop and put the stew in the pot to heat up. Cutting himself a few small slices of the bread, Armitage thought about if he would rather eat down in the kitchen or in the ballroom. His pride said the ballroom but the weaker part of him—damn it to hell—said to eat quickly where he stood then force himself to go in the library and have a drink before this conversation started.

Right. He couldn’t have a drink. Armitage had drunk everything in the decanter. And he’d broken it. Damn.

He kept his eyes trained on the stove and began to lose focus. His thoughts turned to nothingness and his vision blurred. Armitage hadn’t even realized what was happening until he felt a hand on his shoulder which violently pulled him out of this unfixed state. So much that when he turned, his elbow grazed Ben’s chest. He saw the other react with a pained wince at the impact of Armitage’s sharp elbow to the chest and ribs. Armitage didn’t care to apologize. He didn’t care to say anything to Ben, either. Not verbally, at least. His eyes said enough and it said that he didn’t want this interaction to happen.

But Ben had never been good at listening to him. Hell would freeze over before Ben listened to him consistently.

Armitage’s widened and irked green eyes watched as Ben’s brown ones took in the sight of him. There was something different about how Ben was looking at him. Armitage couldn’t quite put a finger on it but he wasn’t sure if he was entirely comfortable with it. It was unsettling, is what it was, and he didn’t know how to verbally address it. The idea of conversation seemed to exhaust him. Armitage was well aware there was going to be a conversation but he couldn’t do it now. His body was screaming for food and for energy as well as someone or something to acknowledge what he was going through. But that was a weak and selfish part of Armitage that would dismantle his pride if he let it be revealed. Ben had seen worse, yes, but there were still walls that Armitage put up to defend himself. He would be damned if he would ever let Ben know how much he needed him to stay.

He turned his head to the side and briefly acknowledged the floor before looking over his shoulder to see the progress of the stew. But it wasn’t long before he felt Ben’s presence come closer and turned his head to look at him. Ben was now close enough to kiss him. In fact, Armitage thought that was what he was going to do. His hand was on Armitage’s face. His fingers were splayed and reaching toward, and through, his hair. The safety of the touch brought about those feelings of closeness and intimacy that Armitage felt deprived of.

Armitage, against his own willpower, leaned into the touch and even turned his face into Ben’s palm. He could barely hear the silent, relieved exhale of breath from his companion’s mouth as the gesture was reciprocated. It sent a shudder down Armitage’s spine and shot something else straight from his head to his groin. Something about that shuddering sigh triggered a deeper desire. He couldn’t control his hands reaching to Ben and pulling him in by the arms for a messy and impulsive kiss. It didn’t even feel like a real kiss to Armitage because it felt so unpracticed. It sent his mind into a tailspin and frayed all of his nerves. He could barely keep present as the kiss intensified rather quickly and Ben’s hands were all over him, touching him. Armitage reciprocated and shifted to the side so he was leaning on counter and not the stove where the food was cooking.

His hands gripped Ben’s hair and pulled the strands tightly, eliciting a hungry groan from Ben’s mouth that encouraged Armitage’s teeth to bite into the man’s lip. He felt the instinct to sit on the counter but then, on second thought, that would be demeaning to himself. So Armitage forced Ben to keep him pinned against the counter and kissing him, biting his lip and grabbing at his clothes. He felt his blazer being unbuttoned and pushed aside uselessly. Not taken off, no, but pushed aside so Ben’s hands could get at his buttons. Not to unbutton, no, but to latch onto. Then came the unmistakable and, frankly, desired grinding of their hips and groins. Armitage’s left hand forced Ben’s pelvis against his own and his right hand kept his head pressed against his neck where he was now kissing every inch of bare skin he could find. It set Armitage’s nerves on fire and only stoked the fire and arousal in his groin. He could feel Ben’s as well as the other messily and desperately tried to feel close to him without taking their clothes off. It was immature and unpracticed, sure, but neither of them were thinking clearly. Soft grunts and moans were shared in the small space between them. Ben’s hand palmed Armitage’s arousal and he tipped his head back to moan in response.

As suddenly as the moment had come, it passed. For Armitage, at least. His eyes snapped open and he gave one last press of his hands before he pulled his head back.

Ben’s head lifted to look at him and see what the issue was. His face was red and his eyes were glazed over with a mixture of lust and confusion. He leaned in, chasing after Armitage’s mouth to resume the kiss. But Armitage pulled his head back and looked at him incredulously. Ben tried again and Armitage repeated what he had done, giving an even more incredulous look.

There was one more quick, messy kiss initiated by Ben and Armitage let it happen before he pushed the other back with his hands. Now Ben was the one to look incredulous and confused.

Quickly, Armitage composed himself. His hands ran through his hair and he straightened his clothes. It would take some time for his arousal to abate but Armitage tried to focus on rather unpleasant thoughts; especially those concerning Ben at the moment.

Armitage gave Ben a long, measured look and slowly walked by him. Their shoulders roughly bumped as the red-haired man went past Ben. He didn’t get far enough to escape the darker haired man’s sudden grasping of his arm.

Pausing, he turned to look at Ben and confront him with another silent and muted glare. Ben’s eyes bore into his own but Armitage did not back down from this battle. He did not give into his desires or his willpower. He still had enough of his sanity and right mind to feel vindicated in this sudden decision. He would also be lying if he did not acknowledge that he wanted Ben to feel uncomfortable and to feel hurt. It was good; it was what he was feeling.

Finally, Armitage wrenched his arm away. He leveled his gaze at Ben another moment and abandoned the task of making himself something to eat. Instead, he simply walked away and left Ben alone and reeling; collecting the shattered pieces of his heart and his spirit right before one of the biggest and most defining moments of this new, uncertain life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	22. Chapter 22

Hungry animals were fueled by pure emotion and focus. That was something Armitage now firmly believed. Spite, too, was a factor but that was directly related to himself rather than animals. As he watched Rey stand by the fire and warm her hands, he felt the hunger be replaced with spite.

Armitage knew his hands were shaking from the hungry but he stayed his course. This focus and fury would fuel him and he had been weak to even think that food would have helped him. It was so easy to give into what was “right”. That’s what Ben would do and certainly what Rey would do. Both of them had eaten while Armitage had found solace in glasses of water and tea as a poor substitute for his empty and starving stomach. Ben’s look of pity, when he had entered the library, had filled Armitage with unjustified rage. How dare he look upon him that way when it was Ben’s actions that forced him into this state. That is what his mind told him, at least.

He had to trust his mind in this moment because it was the only certain and stable fact in his life. There had been moments where he couldn’t have trusted it but Armitage sought solace in his own thoughts. In the end, he could only depend on himself.

“Will one of you say something so we can get this over with?” He finally asked, pulling out his cigarette case and pulling a cigarette to his lips. Armitage felt Ben’s eyes upon him as he lit up and filled his lungs with the smoke. Rey acknowledged him with a glance then looked mutely at Ben.

Her body, clothed in earth-toned garments more suited for the dreary Arkanisian atmosphere, turned to face his entirely. Armitage watched the flames of the fire bounce off her face and give emphasis to her features. Rey had a rather soft face but the shadows under her cheekbone showed she was not just a girlish face. Armitage saw her maturity and her beauty accentuated by the fire. It didn’t entice him as it might others. Although, if anything, it gave him greater pause. Was it foolish to think of her as a mere girl when here she was as so much more?

It was Rey who took charge, upon seeing Ben would not speak. She unfolded her arms from her chest and let then hang by her side. They way they hung was not limp at all, but rather commanding and at attention in a manner that Armitage himself often carried himself. She did not relax at all even though she looked quite at home in the environment. Then again, he thought, she didn’t look comfortable; she looked in control.

“Ben and I spoke,” she said, her voice level and authoritative, “and he brought up things that concerned him.”

Armitage’s eyes moved to Ben’s face. Ben looked rather lost, truth be told. It was pathetic to see.

“Why doesn’t Ben tell me these things himself?” Armitage questioned, aiming the question at the man himself. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben retorted with a hardened expression on his face. It was an expression Armitage had seen many times before in meetings with Snoke. “Well? Why don’t you tell me yourself?”

“He feels,” Rey interrupted, “conflicted.”

One of Armitage’s legs crossed against the other and he scoffed, taking the cigarette to his mouth and puffing on it as he fiddled with his case. His fingers traveled over the ridges and the cool metal. “When doesn’t he?”

Rey’s voice was clearly irritated. “If you’d like to stop acting like a child, that would be nice. Then we could have the conversation you want to have.”

“The one acting like a child is--”. Using the cigarette as a pointing tool, Armitage jabbed it toward Ben. Next, he aimed it at Rey. “You are a poor second in this duel. Truly, Ben, you could have done better.”

“Why are you being like this?” Came Ben’s monotonous, low voice. He was remarkably still where he sat. Only his eyes moved. Upon closer inspection, Armitage saw that Ben’s head had angled marginally so they could see one another. “Let her speak.” There was no mistaking the crispness of the final letter of the word. Ben’s lips remained parted even half a minute after he spoke. His brown eyes seemed to become smaller and sharper the longer Armitage held them in his own line of sight. He didn’t remember the last time Ben’s eyes had seemed so razor sharp; so hell-bent on intimidating him that it stunned the former general into silence, much as it did now.

Armitage was momentarily taken aback. In response to Ben, he placed the cigarette between his lips and lightly closed his teeth around it. He only removed it to tap the ashes into the ashtray.

A beat passed before Rey continued in her level and measured voice.

“He feels conflicted. He knows how much the Republic need him, but he also understands how he is needed here. With you.” Rey paused again to acknowledge Ben before she resumed speaking. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn and feel free to interject when you feel is right. Both of you. But I feel it’s best Ben comes back. He’s greatly needed.”

“How is he needed?” Armitage questioned. This time, the mocking and the goading was out of his voice. This was business and it required a business-like tone. It required the severity of a general. He stubbed out his current cigarette and immediately went for a new one. He truly wished he hadn’t destroyed that decanter. He felt the urge to drink rather than smoke. A good, strong buzz was what he needed to settle into this conversation. Within him, Armitage felt his stomach churn in agony and desire for food. He quelled such a mortal need and sat forward after lighting his new cigarette. The case now sat on the table before him. “Enlighten me. And don’t simply tell me what I’ve heard already.”

Rey did not seem phased. Her weight did not shift from its centered position. She only seemed to ground herself more into her surroundings. It was momentarily striking to witness. “Ben isn’t just a symbol for the Republic. He’s a valued member. He understands what it’s like to get wrapped up in an organization like the First Order, what it’s like to experience their teachings.”

“ _My_ teachings, you mean?”

“Palpatine’s teachings,” Rey shot back. Her jaw shifted and there was a small but unmistakable pop when it shifted. Armitage’s brow rose when he heard it. Then she said, “But if the shoe fits, fine. Your teachings. You’re the only one left to take credit for it.”

“No, I’ll take credit for them. My teachings, as well.” Armitage reasoned with his cigarette, going on rather proudly as if delivering a progress report. He momentarily delighted in how he imagined Rey might be reacting internally.

Rey’s eyes rolled upward as she took a patient inhale then resumed speaking to the former general. “Fine. _Your teachings_. Your trainings and your way of life. Ben understands what it’s like to be wrapped up in it. Seduced by it. He can help us unwravel the thread of influence throughout the rest of the galaxy.”

“Oh, you mean the New Republic hasn’t swept up the mess? Shameful, shameful. That’s not evidence of an efficient governing body.”

This time, a new voice chimed in. “Just because the New Republic isn’t as brutal as the First Order doesn’t mean they’re inefficient,” Ben’s voice harshly interrupted.

Armitage’s head craned to look at Ben. He was nearly scowling. Overall, he was shocked. “Listen to yourself,” the former general urged, “you sound as if you’re repeating their script.”

Ben’s body began to angle bit-by-bit to face his companion. “But it’s the truth. You’re derailing the argument by pointing out what the New Republic hasn’t done. There’s no First Order to compare it to any longer. And, according to you, the First Order died long before Exegol. Because of me, if I’m remembering you correctly.”

Armitage barely had the chance to respond before Ben was continuing on, seemingly intent on speaking for himself now. “The point is I can do a lot of good with the New Republic. There are still areas in the galaxy where the First Order has some sort of influence remaining. Like I told you. And there are still beings who have an idea of me. My being there, making the change, can do a lot of good. It can get the galaxy balanced again. Balanced in the right way. Not by destroying planets.”

“You liked destroying planets.” Armitage’s response was cold and honest, like the wind that blew ahead of the oncoming rainstorm to herald its arrival. “You liked destroying communities, races, planets. Don’t lie to me about that.”

He wondered how Rey was reacting. He didn’t dare look at her. Armitage stood up and looked down at Ben, who was still seated. “You were always so at home out there. I don’t have to be you to sense it.”

The sight of Ben on Mustafar with his lightsaber slashing through the inhabitants of the planet had been savagely beautiful. Even seeing him choke the life out of a disobedient officer—who was not Hux himself—had been gorgeous to watch. He thought about it with so much fondness that it took his breath away. It always did when he reflected on how the man sitting before him—now so still—had the potential to wield such power and brutality. With the mask off, Armitage had seen the peace that came over Ben’s face as he engaged in a fight. War was where he was most attune and at home, besides here on Arkanis.

By the time that last thought had occurred, Ben was standing up as well and had taken two steps forward to almost close the gap between them. “I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” He looked at Rey and added, “I wouldn’t lie to you about that, either. I know you both know.” Then he returned his attention to Armitage. “But that’s not who I am anymore. I’m somewhere in-between. I’m in the grey just as much as Rey is. Just as much as you are.”

“Don’t compare me to the likes of _her_ ,” warned Armitage.

Ben’s head shook incredulously. “What are you afraid of? That it’ll make you seem weak? You look pretty weak right now. You’ve looked weak all day.”

The urge to growl or just to express any sort of verbal displeasure was great. But Armitage did not want to seem like an uncontrollable animal. He was refined and contained. He could channel this displeasure into something else. He could use it to change the situation. For now, he only stared Ben down. His upper lip twitched in displeasure and his brows creased, only making the lines on his forehead more visible.

Rey spoke again. “Ben," she said, directing her attention to him, " you told me you also feel you need to stay here.”

“Why?” Armitage asked, not looking at Rey. “Tell me.”

As he waited, he saw the sudden loss of confidence in Ben’s eyes. He saw the slight parting of his lips as if he would speak but no sound came out. He saw a million different things Ben could have said come to the tipping point of his mouth but suddenly retreat into the safety of his head. He saw Ben’s eyes dart three times as he tried to collect himself but fail to do so in a timely manner. In the meantime, Armitage stubbed out his cigarette and stood straight. “Come along,” he ordered, “out with it. I truly don’t have all night.”

Then Armitage turned his head to Rey and challenged, “Come on, say it. I’m certain he’s told you. Then again, what hasn’t he told you? Has he told you of his time here? How much did he go into detail? Or, better yet, what have you felt from him? Did you feel me as well? I’m most certain you did. I don’t think the Force permits any sort of privacy from what I’ve experienced--”

Ben’s hand immediately grabbed Armitage’s arm and squeezed. Armitage felt the next words he was about to say disappear from his brain. Everything but his breath was cut off. He gave Ben his attention and tilted his head as if to say, ‘ _Well would you look at that?’_

There was a straining on Ben’s face. There was the clear desire to not do what he was doing but Armitage had obviously given him no choice. “Will you shut up and listen to me? To **_me_**?”

Something coursed through his body that wasn’t the Force. It was deeper than that. It hit Armitage swiftly in the chest and the spirit. Without any sort of outside influence, he nodded once.

“—It’s not a lie that I want to stay here. That this past year has been--” Ben broke off as he was momentarily without words. Then, unlike before, he collected himself and was able to continue on. “—I want to stay here.”

_But how much do you want to stay here? Tell me. Tell her._ That is what Armitage’s eyes said or, at least, tried to say. He wouldn’t dare be caught off-guard in such a manner, especially in front of someone he didn’t trust. The hand on his arm pressed a bit tighter and in a way that insinuated Ben wanted to move closer. But Armitage did not budge. Neither did Ben.

So, instead, he said, “But I have a duty. A thousand generations live in us now. In me. In Rey. Giving it all up, throwing it away when there’s still so much to be done, would be dishonoring them.”

“Damn them,” came Armitage’s response. It was as bitter as the tea he enjoyed.

There was the unmistakable smile on Ben’s lips. It was bittersweet. The grip softened. Armitage no longer felt the intense pressing of Ben’s fingertips into his skin and bones. “It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to see you again.”

“We both know it does,” Armitage responded. There was no timeline for any of this. It could take weeks, years, decades. The work never seemed to be finished. Armitage had been born into the Empire and been at the conception and birth of the First Order. Their work had never truly been completed. Regimes rose and fell all the time. Who was to say that the next time they met, they would be on opposing sides? Or perhaps Armitage would die without seeing Ben again or vice versa.

“No, we don’t.”

“Don’t be a fool, Ben. You tend to act like a child but you are smarter than this. I know it as much as you. The girl— _Rey_ —is not here to temporarily move you out.” Armitage inhaled deeply. “She is here to take you. She has no intention of bringing you back.” _She has no intention of bringing you back to me._

Intense green eyes bore into Rey’s brown ones. Rey’s eyes were not hardened any longer as they made contact. He searched for the truth on the surface and dared her to go deeper; to show him that he was right. Because of course he was. Armitage Hux was always right and he knew this situation was no different. His intuition was practically screaming at him that he was correct.

Rey’s pink lips parted as the stare-down continued. There was a slight but noticeable shift in her eyes.

“Well, there you have it,” Armitage commented. He looked at the hand on his arm and stepped away from it.

“Nothing is certain. Nothing is written in stone. You’re being paranoid.”

“There are some things you cannot deny.” Armitage looked at Ben coldly. “If you feel your duty goes beyond staying here, what am I to do? I am not your commanding officer. I have no dominion over you. I do not control your heart.”

The walls were building themselves up again, sealing off his heart. It was almost as if Ben could feel it. He was recoiling into himself bit-by-bit in response to what was being given to him. The shock was evident as well. It was growing, too, as Armitage lowered his eyes to break the unbearable connection between them. His hand scrubbed over his jaw and his face then went through his hair as he gave himself that time to think. There wouldn’t be anything useful to say now; his brain was settled over this new path. Armitage pushed his hair over to the right and looked at Ben again as if he had something new to saw. But, as expected, nothing new came out. There was nothing he could say in present company with the present emotions he was feeling. The urge to run away was there; to close himself up and to lock himself away. He felt like a child again. The grip he had on his control was roughly slipping from his grasp.

“I can’t. I cannot--”

With that, Armitage stepped away from the two of them and left the room. It took a few beats for Rey to step over to Ben. But even if she dared to try and touch his shoulder, she would re-thought it due to how Ben was beginning to tremble. His eyes were trained on the door Armitage had just walked out of and his mind replayed the staggered manner in which the red-haired man had exited. Ben did not need the Force to see how unstable Armitage was. In truth, he was feeling the same way.

* * *

His feet did not carry him to his office but, rather, down the stairs and down the dim hallway.

For the first time, he did not question himself when he grasped onto the door handle of the room he had not been in for decades. The fear did not occur to him as he twisted the doorknob urgently, only to be greeted by the vile clicking of the lock. A few more futile twists of the handle resulted in his fist banging on the wooden door. His foot kicked at it as well in fury at not being able to open the door.

The key, the key; where had his father put the key? Where was X-3 when he needed him? The damned droid couldn’t even be around when Armitage needed him the most.

Armitage didn’t know exactly how he’d let himself inside. One moment he was kicking and pulling at the locked door in a frenzy. The next moment, he was inside and the door was clicking closed.

There was a single bed shoved into the corner. Actually, it couldn’t even be called a bed. It was more like a cot stacked on something akin to boxes which were barely long enough to fit a person of average height. The bedding was stripped away and what could be poorly excused for a pillow was deflated and faded with age.

His hand pressed against it and he feels how uncomfortable it is. Armitage suddenly felt his heart palpitate. He touched the spot and willed it to stop. The hand still on the bed pressed into the mattress and he felt the urge to sit down, which he did. Armitage felt as if he were reeling. It was as if an explosive had gone off and he was shocked from the blast.

At the same time, it felt as if blaster bolts were striking his chest one after the other in a new attack. This bombardment had a pattern; one, two three. _Blast, blast blast._ And with each blast, a flash of a memory:

* * *

_Managing to open the door with his small hands. Stepping inside and wondering if there was anything to entertain himself. Then wondering if there was anything to keep him warm. The basement was so damp; so damp and so cold._

_Wondering if the kitchen women would catch him snooping around when he wasn’t supposed to be down there. Closing the door until only a crack of light was showing. Wandering into the room on unsteady, small legs. Feeling as if everything was so big and dwarfing the little three-year old._

_Suddenly, something catches his eyes. A light blue blanket. It was a warm material, almost like a yarn. It was scratchier than the fine fabrics that Maratelle wore and draped around the estate and also unlike anything he had in his room. But in addition to being scratchy, it was also soft and warm. It was even big enough to drape around his own shoulders. He wondered…_

_It was an effort to climb onto the bed—which, truly, wasn’t even a bed but rather boxes with a cot on it—but he did so. And the little boy wrapped the blanket around his thin body. He’d been shivering and the blanket wasn’t that big, in retrospect, but it was warm enough and big enough for the thin little boy._

_A sense of calm washes over him as he feels the warmth of the blanket around him. It feels like being near the fire or like being wrapped in his covers at the end of the day. He feels protected as he pulls it tighter around his body._

_When he’s finished, he drapes the blanket where he found it and looks around the room. It’s only big enough for two grown adults; perhaps his father and Maratelle only. He wonders who slept here. He looks at the pillow and finds something on it; a long, light brown hair. He frowns and lets it fall to the floor then notices the covers. They’re ripped and there is something stained red on it. The stains are light but he wonders how they got there and if someone should clean them. He wonders if anyone is sleeping in this room and why. They must have done something bad to sleep in such a cold room, but at least they have this warm blanket. It’s a nice one, too. He wishes he could bring it to his room but he does not want to get in trouble. So he leaves it and closes the door entirely._

_The next flash occurs and he is crying. Or, rather, he is sniffling and he wants to hide. So he gently opens the door after peering around to see if anyone is looking. Then he goes onto the uncomfortable cot and finds the blanket the exact same way he left it. So he lays down and pulls it over his head and his upper body, sniffling underneath as he tries to block out the frustrated yelling that has sent such a panic and shock through his little body. He feels rattled like trees in a storm or like the droids after his father commands him to strike at them with the practice blades. Even the strike rattles his little body and he doesn’t like how his wrists feel. His father tells him he needs to hold it correctly or he will snap his wrists so they heal and become stronger._

_The blanket is warm and hides his reddened face from the world. The dim room does so as well. For once, he is grateful for this cold room. He wants to fall asleep but he knows the nanny droid is looking for him. So he dries his tears and gives the blanket a squeeze before he lays it flat and leaves._

_Another flash brings him to the day before his birthday, where he is playing on the floor with the blanket draped around his shoulders. He’s used to how scratchy it is now. Rather, he doesn’t find it scratchy but comforting. He likes how it rubs against his cheek and how he can burrow inside of it if he feels too cold. He likes how it smells faintly of vanilla and smoke. It reminds him of the kitchen and of the warm, delicious food served when his father has guests over. Which is not often right now but does happen._

_He focuses on the vanilla and smoke as he plays with little figures that are reminiscent of Imperial troopers. He likes them and he likes the guns they hold. He imagines commanding these men in battle, thinking of how strong they are. He thinks of the poster in his room and the commanding nature of the officer pictured. He wonders if he will be like him one day, or if he is doomed to succumb to his father’s criticisms. He wonders if he is too thin, too weak, and too unfocused like his father says he is. It makes him sad. It makes him curl further into the blanket and seek comfort in it rather than the figurines. His little body curls against the boxes stacked as a base for the bed and he closes his eyes. It is not entirely comfortable but it lulls him to a light sleep. He’s never slept in here before. He wonders if the person using the room will be caught; the person with the long, light brown hair. He wonders if they work in the kitchen or if they work elsewhere. At some point, he finds his way onto the bed and curls up there to gain warmth as he falls asleep again. He feels wrapped up. He feels protected from the dampness and the cold._

_But then its shattered as he is literally dragged from his sleep. His eyes open and, before he even realizes it, a sharp hand slaps across his cheek. There is a stinging, too, as well as a burning warmth that elicits a yelp from his mouth. The rouged lips of Maratelle are the only thing he can recognize at the moment. Then he realizes he is on the floor staring up at her. Her pointed finger, on the right hand, is crooked toward him and there is a hint of red on it. It is not her painted nail but, rather, the unmistakable sign of blood. His little hand goes to his face as he realizes his cheekbone has a slit across it. He cries and asks why. He is told to stop blubbering and asked how he entered this room. But he is too afraid to answer and he clutches the blue blanket to him._

_There is the unmistakable rage in Maratelle’s eyes. She grabs the blanket and tries to pull it from him. He clutches on, begging her to let him keep it. He is so cold. His little body is shivering. **Please. Please let me keep it.**_

_This tug quite literally rips the blanket from him. He is horrified to see the blue blanket torn and damaged. No. It’s ruined. It’s absolutely ruined. The way it was all bound together, perhaps by loving hands, is ruined. There is no way to put it back together; at least no way his little mind can conceive. He lets out a yelp and reaches for it, only to be slapped away again and shoved to the floor._

_His little hands cover his face and ears as he hears Maratelle’s shrill scolding and insults; her decrying of him for hiding and sneaking around. How untrustworthy he is and how pathetic he is for acting like a baby. He is no longer a baby and he should not be clinging to any blankets._

_It is then that he realizes Maratelle’s hair is not the light brown that was on the bed. Of course it couldn’t be; he was foolish to think it was. He dares pull his hands away and sees Maratelle’s body angling away, looking toward the door that is slowly opening. His father is standing there, looking over the room._

_There is a look shared between the two adults that little Armitage does not know. But Maratelle shoves the torn blanket at him and throws the other part in the little boy’s face. He hears a sound that almost sounds like spitting then the certain clacking of her shoes as she leaves._

_He doesn’t quite remember what his father says but it is low and more frightening than anything in his life. Then he feels his father’s rough hands on him, slapping his face and pinning his little shoulder down. The blanket is shoved in his face so he can only inhale the vanilla scent that is slowly being overtaken by the burning smoke of his father’s cigarettes. His father reeks of them; it makes the little boy want to gag and to vomit but he cannot do much of anything with his father holding him down._

_Then there is something else. Something else that Brendol’s rough voice says._

**_She made this when she had thought she wanted you. Then she tried so hard to get rid of you. Maybe she should have succeeded if she knew what a weakling you would be today. If she could only see how her little bastard turned out; sniveling and sobbing and weak as all hell. Then she would wish she’d gone sooner._ **

* * *

And then he is thrust out of it.

Armitage was reeling worse than before. 

He felt so sick. He could practically feel his father’s hands on him again but they soon dissipated like the wind. Even still, it did not take away what he was feeling and how he was clinging onto the cot. His eyes could not possibly become wider than they already were. He couldn’t possibly feel worse.

This was worse than months ago. This was worse than anything he’d ever experienced because he felt as if he had relived it all. He had to clutch at his chest and feel his own face to understand that he was not the three-year-old little boy again. But despite the grounding fact that he was thirty-six and a grown man, he felt as helpless as he had been when Maratelle had found him and dragged him from this sanctuary.

If that had happened now, he would have killed her. He would have strangled her with his hands; hands that were no longer fragile and weak. He would have been the one to slap her to the ground and draw blood from her face. Maybe he would have even gone a step further and wrapped his hands around her throat, just to see how close to death he could bring her. He wondered how much more he could make her suffer, just as she had made him suffer.

The cot was a poor substitute for Maratelle. There was no satisfaction of curling fingers into flesh and choking the life out of it. There was to be no vengeance. There was only the pain and the memories that he had suppressed for so long and felt only in passing flashes of nausea and dizziness as well as dread as he passed the room.

Would that be how he felt when he passed Ben’s room? When he slept in the bed they had once shared so many times, when he passed the library and the Dejarik table? When he used the same mug Ben used for his tea or the cup he would use to share a drink by the fire? Would Armitage look at it and feel the betrayal and pain that he felt now, being in this room? Would he even bear to cope seeing all the things Ben used to touch and what had touched his body? Would there be any trace of him left to celebrate or would it only be there for him to mourn and agonize over for the rest of his days? What item of Ben’s would be his blue blanket?

A new thought; was the blanket here? Did it still exist in this space?

The next he knew, Armitage had moved the boxes and the cot. He got on top of the cot and peered in the space between it and the wall. Nothing. Not even a thread or piece of yarn which had held it together. Nothing of it remained. He wracked his frantic, frenzied memories. What had Brendol done with it? What had his fucking father done with it?

What had his father done? This is what his father had done; he'd driven his only son to the edge. He'd ruined everything, even from the grave. He'd ruined his life. He'd ruined the prospects of his only son and Armitage knew he didn't even care. Brendol cared for nothing but himself and his own advancement. The old fool. If he was here now, Armitage would have strangled the life out of him. No; he would have inflicted a death on him a thousand times worse than what he'd already received. He would not let Brendol die until he had the man squealing and shrieking in the same manner the old man had complained Armitage had as a boy.

The cot was suddenly flung to the opposite wall. His fists burst through the boxes. A yell echoed in the small room, only being relieved the by crack left open by the door. Armitage's fists hit the stone wall and reverberated through his body. Then he pressed his forehead against the spot he had just hit. He leaned on it for support, bracing himself as he rode out his agonized yell. Not for physical agony, but for the emotional agony. For the grief he was feeling at how his new life was slipping away from him just as easily as that comfortable routine had when he was barely even four years of age. Like the blanket, Ben would be gone. There would be no trace of him left. None. And he would be left with the memories or worse; forcing himself to forget and closing himself off to every little bit of joy he had felt. He would be cold and bitter and die in agony like Brendol. In the end, the son would become the father. There was truly no escape.

Then, the door creaked open.

His instinct was the scream at the being to get out, whoever they were, but there was no energy to do so.

He’d thought it was Ben. It was only Rey.

She was stuck to the ground in surprise to what she had come across. There was a small gap between her lips as she took in the sight of Armitage, now wild-eyed and trembling. He was unraveling in front of her and it was the last thing he wanted to be doing especially in front of her. But he simply could not hold back the storm inside of him.

Armitage felt so small. He felt like the little boy he’d been the last time he’d been in this room. And just like before, a woman had walked in on him.

The fear returned. That fear he’d felt when he’d been intruded upon. An immature desire boiled inside of him. This time, it wasn’t angry but it was pleading and begging.

And unlike the last time, Rey left. She left Armitage to the storm of grief inside of him. She left him to pleading and begging thoughts; thoughts his three-year-old self had pleaded to Maratelle. For the thing he needed most was being threatened. His only comfort, the only thing he looked forward to each day, was being threatened and pulled from him and he was powerless to stop it.

**_Don’t take him, too._ **

  
Because if she did, he would have nothing left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me here!
> 
> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	23. Chapter 23

Ben hadn’t slept in nearly two days. He spent most of his time on his bed or outside, mindlessly walking the grounds. He’d asked Rey to give him until the end of the week at least, and she had whole-heartedly agreed. Neither of them could leave Armitage in such a state. Ben hadn’t seen him in such a manner since the first day he had arrived. Then, Armitage had been gaunt and a shell of his former self. His hair and facial hair had grown out so he had looked rather untamed. Though his appearance wasn’t quite what it had been, the former general was now a shell of the man he had been for the past few months. It was as if nothing had changed. He seemed to be a ghost now; only a presence to be felt and never to be seen.

It broke Ben’s heart, it truly did. This was the worst pain he’d felt in quite some time. This was worse than dying. It was comparable with killing his father, feeling his mother die, and losing Rey. Then again, those pains had been markedly different. Ben had never known losing touch with a person he’d loved this much.

Was he making the right choice by leaving?

His reasoning was this was his duty. Part of his heart ached to make a difference and to prove himself worthy of carrying the legacy of so many Jedi; most of that being his family. If he fulfilled this duty, he could feel at peace. If the universe was balanced, then perhaps he wouldn’t feel the need to constantly be on edge. Rey would be satisfied. He would be fully redeemed and free of this guilt that plagued him. He could fix his own mistakes and help teach the next generation so they would not make the same mistakes he did.

But what would he sacrifice in the process?

His home. He would sacrifice this home he had made with Armitage. He would sacrifice the strong bond and the life he had forged, if it wasn’t sacrificed already from his indecision. Armitage’s anger, betrayal, and haunting presence was enough of a fallout. Ben was starting to think the man was right and that he was going down a path of no return. Armitage’s words rung in his mind in the hours that followed: _She has no intention of bringing you back._

But it wasn’t up to Rey to bring Ben back to Arkanis once their work was done. She wasn’t his keeper, after all. A first thought struck him; then why did he feel so bound to her? Besides their dyad, why did he feel so obliged to drop everything and go with her? Because she was one hundred percent right? Rey was right in a lot of things but Ben also knew she was wrong in others. He knew this because of his experience here on Arkanis, here with Armitage. She didn’t have the sorts of attachments he did now. He’d been with Armitage for a little over a year and now he was seriously considering leaving him and leaving this new life he had forged. She didn’t understand the bond they shared.

The next thought was when would the work be done?

How long would it take to complete his duty? By then, how much of Armitage’s affection would be left if there was any left to spare? Would he even still be alive to accept Ben back?

Ben didn’t feel the need to eat. He didn’t want to. He barely consumed more than water. Ben was feeling increasingly unstable and he wondered how much of that was the energy given off by Armitage. He worried for the other’s sanity, especially when Rey had returned to the library with a stricken expression on her face. But she had said nothing. She didn’t need to say anything, either. Ben felt the shift and it had nearly forced him to his knees.

New visions plagued him at night and at any point when he was alone, much as they had in his youth. Only this time, they were not exclusively in his subconscious. These were fully conscious thoughts that he had to do battle with. It was his own guilt and his own questioning of such a truly rash decision.

Their conversation hadn’t even truly been a conversation. It had been Rey talking at Armitage for Ben and then Ben saying words and phrases that gave him a momentary comfort. Because he had to believe the decision he was making was the right one and the sacrifices wouldn’t be in vain.

_Follow your heart, follow your heart._

If he could truly follow his heart, he wouldn’t make Rey happy. If he truly followed his heart, how would the galaxy fair? How would the Force remain in balance? How long would there be peace? But if he followed his heart, what new doors would be open? What would his new life look like?

He wondered if it would look much as it did before Rey had arrived. Ben wondered if, once they mended back together, he and Armitage would even sleep in the same bed again. If they did, perhaps he would be able to wake before Armitage for once. Ben had only gotten a few glimpses of the other man sleeping and he always marveled at how at-peace he looked. They would wake up together and he would insist Armitage not leave the bed too soon but ultimately be left there as Armitage went to ready himself. Ben would pull himself out of bed and lazily put himself together, only going in to wash up when Armitage was finished. They would enjoy a quick breakfast and, if needed, go to cut wood. If none needed to be cut, they would walk the grounds together. It would be early so it would take some time for them to start a full conversation. They could even go to the spot by the lake at the edge of the property. Going into town, too, could be on the agenda for the day. If not, games of Dejarik or reading in each other’s company. Ben could leave to train, too, but ultimately come back to where Armitage was sitting; because it took the man an eternity to finish one book. Then, when the day was ultimately finished and all of their activities had been exhausted, they would return to bed together. Sex wouldn’t have to be done. Ben would be just as happy falling asleep beside Armitage in their bed and letting his fingers move over the man’s face until he finally coaxed him to fall asleep. There would be no worrying about politics, the Jedi, or anything that happened out of the sphere of Arkanis. There would only be them. And their decision would be respected. No one else would bother them. It would be the two of them in this estate, slowly edging out the memory of Brendol Hux and making it their own home. Ben would truly have somewhere to call home and someone to fight for. No, not to fight for; to live for.

Ben wondered how much of that he had ruined now. The more he felt Armitage straining and in pain, the more he realized how this future was becoming unreachable. But he didn’t know what to do. Ben felt helpless and trapped by how torn his heart was by duty and by love.

“Has he eaten?” Ben asked as he and Rey were seated in the library. Rey was standing by the window, staring at the raging storm outside. It had been storming for nearly two days and only lightened up for a couple of hours. But, for Arkanis, lightening up wasn’t saying much.

Rey’s fingers were pressed to her lips as she stared at the shaking trees and leaves, watching some of the greenery float to the ground due to the wind. She’d seemed different in the past couple of days; more stricken, silent, and contemplative. She attained a sort of statuesque posture that Ben had hardly seen before. When he spoke, she turned her head to look at him and shook his head. “I don’t think he has.”

“Have you seen him?” Ben’s hands were gripping the tops of his knees. Meditating wasn’t working. All the Force showed him was Armitage’s distress. In fact, if he were being truthful, it was all he meditated to see and that he was allowed to see. He tried to look into some sort of future but he was blocked from such foresight. No visions showed him if his choice would be the right one. If anything, it felt as if it were a cruel joke from beyond. Ben only felt angered and resentful because of it. Now that he thought of it, he felt some resentment toward Rey as well. If only she hadn’t come there, if only she hadn’t followed Armitage. If only he’d spoken up for himself instead of letting his feelings cloud his decision making. If only, if only, if only.

Ben had almost forgotten he'd asked Rey a question. He was surprised to hear her answer.“I haven’t.” Her voice seemed somewhat lost as well. Her eyes did not meet Ben’s.

Ben moved to his feet and asked, “What?”

In response, Rey’s head shook. “It’s nothing,” she responded, though he knew by the look on her face that something was bothering her.

Ben walked to the window and looked out it as well. There would be some mess to clean up. There would even be spare kindling for the fire. He wondered now how Armitage would do it all himself. Ben tried to address what Rey had brought up but she, too, shut down. It didn’t seem as if she had the right words to address it. He sensed the uncertainty in her. But there must have been something which shifted her manner. She’d stood her ground and been so insistent on proving her point before that this shift was now somewhat alarming to Ben.

He would let it go for another day. Another day and he could speak to Rey. He just needed to collect his thoughts and gather the scattered pieces. In the meantime, he spent much of his time walking the halls and even sitting alone at the Dejarik table. The next day, when he went out in a storm, he felt a sense of belonging. As the wind ripped around him, Ben felt the savageness build up inside of him. There was much conflict; too much. Too much to know how to deal with anymore. Too much of a desire to please both of the people left alive that he loved in two vastly different ways. Three trees fell in the course of him being outside and it wasn’t because of the storm.

_You told me to follow my heart. But I can’t. It’s breaking me in two. I can’t separate it._

He begged for an answer, a sign, some clarity, truly anything that would end this conflict and end this chaos.

**_It’s easier to beg for answers than it is to pursue them._ **

It was such an answer his mother would give that it was almost worthy of rolling his eyes. Squinting through the torrid rain, Ben caught sight of her. His heart palpated then sunk just as he sunk to his knees.

“You made the same choice I made,” he shot toward her, shouting through the roaring wind. His hair both clung to his face and whipped around him. His entire body was soaked; he would catch his death. “You chose your duty over love, and look where it got you! Why did you tell me to make the same choice?”

Her face was gentle yet sad; just as he’d remembered her being before she’d let go. **_I didn’t tell you, Ben._**

‘No, no, you did! For years when I needed you, where were you? In the Senate!” He sat up on his knees and leaned toward her. “And now, you’re telling me to do the same thing you’re doing? That’s not following my heart! That’s bullshit!”

The next he knew, his mother was kneeling before him. She was illuminated by blue but Ben could so clearly see her for who she was. He could see her brown hair streaked with grey, her fine blue dress that had given her such a youthful glow even as she aged. She was just as beautiful as she was the last time she’d seen him.

“—I’m just a failure, aren’t I? I’m just like dad.” His throat closed up. “I’m just like you. All the bad parts of you both. Leaving because it’s my duty and not because it’s what is right.”

He swore he could feel her hand on his face. It was so soft, caressing. It reminded him of how Armitage had once touched him. It made his chest ache.

**_Do you think it’s right to leave him?_ **

“No.” The reply was like a gasp; a desperate gasp for air. And then there was the burning in his eyes. “But I’ll be failing you if I don’t go. I’ll be failing the Jedi, Rey.”

**_I don’t think Rey will be angry if you stay._** Leia tilted her head and stroked Ben’s cheek with her thumb. Ben swore he could feel the light but firm squeeze of his cheek. It was reassuring. It only caused him to drop his head and lose his composure for a moment.

He covered his face with both hands and leaned over himself as he began to grieve. As he did, he felt the protective hand of his mother on him. He wished she could draw him near like she did when he was a child. He wished she could solve all of his issues. He felt so much like a lost little boy who had no experience in this world. It was pathetic. He felt so pathetic but it was so true.

Leia’s voice was a source of warmth in this coldness. **_What do you want to do?_**

A sob muffled itself in his hands as he tried to regain a sense of composure. “To stay. To…tell him I—love him.”

He lifted his head and finally looked at his mother. A bitter smile crossed his lips. “I do a pretty shitty job of showing it, don’t I? Get that from dad.”

His mother gave him a look that said ‘ _If you father was here…_ ’. The thought of Han’s reaction was funny; it truly was. Despite himself, Ben broke into a smile and a stilted laugh. His head shook, splattering droplets of rain. If Leia had been solid and made flesh, the rain would have stained her fine clothes. But they only passed through her. That’s right. Ben had to keep reminding himself that Leia wasn’t truly here. But she wasn’t truly gone either.

“I’m making the same mistakes you made. I’m doing everything by the book and I’m losing him. If I haven’t lost him already.” Ben looked at the sky and then at his mother. “I feel so pathetic.”

She said nothing to that, which gave Ben free reign to continue speaking. “I’ve destroyed it already. Even if I told him I would stay, he wouldn’t trust me. He can’t trust me now. He’s different.” In only a couple of days, things had changed so drastically. The foundation of everything they had built couldn’t be there any longer; it just couldn’t. Ben couldn’t see the way. “I should just go. Spare him. It’s better. It’s better if I left and he didn’t have to think of me anymore.”

But he would; Armitage would think of Ben for the rest of his life. It was impossible to forget everything they had done together; how they had grown together and how far they’d fallen together. How Ben had taken everything created and broken it. It was all his fault, at the end of the day. Everything he touched crumbled and died. He had been foolish to think Armitage would have been any different.

**_I can’t tell you how this will end, Ben. But—_ **

“If you tell me to follow my heart, I might rip it out to show you what it’s like right now.”

Ben didn’t know where that came from. He didn’t realize the words that had tumbled out of his mouth until he re-established eye contact with his mother. She was stricken into that sort of silence that Rey had been in. Ben took in the sight of her and moved as if to touch her lap, but then stopped. “—I’m sorry.”

Leia shifted, leaning closer to her boy. **_I won’t tell you to follow your heart. I followed mine and did what I thought was right. And, in some cases, maybe I was. I did what I did because I thought it would be what was best for you and for the galaxy. I had regrets. I still do. Don’t leave yourself any regrets, Ben._**

He could almost feel the truth of what she had said in his own heart. It was as if he was feeling all of her regrets. The phrase _a thousand lifetimes live in you, now_ , seemed to ring particularly true. Ben could feel all of the regrets of all of the Jedi flowing through him. He could feel Anakin’s, Obi-Wan’s, Luke’s, his mother’s. It was breaking him.

“I don’t want this.”

**_What don’t you want?_ **

“Any of it.”

Ben pushed his hands over his eyes and through his hair, shoving it off his face. “The Jedi, the Force. I don’t want to be bound to any of it. Why do I have to do my duty if I don’t want it? Is it really going to throw the galaxy into such chaos if I stay here? Why is the galaxy going to fall to pieces if I stay here with the person I love? The whole galaxy can burn! All of it! The New Republic, the Force, even this goddamn planet can burn if it means I can’t come back to him!”

His mother’s voice was kind. So kind and patient, yet firm. Her eyes moved from him to just over his head. **_I think it’s time you tell him that._**

Standing and turning over his shoulder, Ben saw Armitage.

The first thing he noticed were the dark circles under his eyes. Then he noticed how red and irritated they were. Then his hair sticking to his head and the water rolling down his face that was not tears. His eyes seemed too dry to let any sort of tear fall. Armitage was clad in his typical coat but he seemed so fragile in it. He was a shell of the man he had been before. Ben detected so much emotional fragility that it was stunning. Then he recognized it as his own. Their energies fed off one another in such an inexplicable way.

Ben’s head turned to the side and he saw that his mother was gone. Then he looked at Armitage again, absolutely stunned into silence. He hadn’t seen him for days and now this is where they were meeting. This is how they saw each other again.

Armitage looked over Ben’s body before he looked at his face. The manner in which his features pulled together and gathered himself up that was so artificial. This was the general who hid everything below the surface. This was also the general who had hit his breaking point and trying not to shatter into pieces. Ben felt very much the same way.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were barely audible. Ben more mouthed them than gave voice to them. So he tried again, “I’m sorry.”

§

Armitage’s eyes blinked as he took in the apology. Those words were so easy to say: _I’m sorry_. He’d said them himself thousands of times without ever truly meaning them. He’d said them to unwitting diplomats and representatives before ordering villages and communities to be destroyed, only to gloat in his victory later and feel not a shred of remorse. Armitage knew when a person was being genuine with those words. He could say Ben was lying all he wanted but he couldn’t deny just how broken the other man was looking at him.

He could submit to the instinct he was feeling. Armitage could easily take Ben into his arms and forgive him. He could tell him how he felt and tell him he didn’t want the other man to leave, though he was more than certain Ben knew that by now. The entire world knew it, at this point; or at least the ones that mattered. But this wasn’t Armitage’s decision to make. He wasn’t the one leaving. It was Ben.

“Are you?”

In a manner that shocked them both, Armitage’s voice was stable and calm despite himself. He spoke again, asking, “Are you sorry?” He then continued. “Why do you feel so bound to your duty to them? To _her_? Out of guilt? Did you ever come here and truly want to be here? Or was everything you said to me a complete and utter lie to get me to come with you?”

“Why do you want to stay so badly when it’s killing you?” Ben’s voice raised above the wind but not in aggression. “It’s killing you to stay here in your father’s house! Why don’t you just come with me and then we could actually start living!”

“Because it’s not his house anymore! It is _mine!_ ” This is where Armitage regained his courage and his strength. “It wasn’t his house when you were here! When you were here and you were **_mine_**! It was **ours**!”

He never wanted to hit someone so viciously. The rage, the fury he felt was aimed toward Ben in this moment. He thought of the room with the cot and the boxes, where the blanket had been and he’d sought comfort as a boy. He thought of how he’d been beaten down in there and how it’d shocked his system so thoroughly he’d forgotten it. The rage and the instinct to drag Ben in there and show him the pain he was feeling was so great. He wanted to beat his fists into Ben and to show him the excruciating pain he was in just looking at him and not being able to say what he wanted to say.

But why wasn’t he able to say it? Why was it so hard to tell Ben the truth? Why couldn’t he have trusted him with the truth before all of this? If he’d only said how he’d felt before, this mess wouldn’t have happened and Ben wouldn’t be leaving. If Armitage wasn’t such a weakling and a coward, he could have had everything he’d wanted. He could have had Ben and he could have erased every trace of Brendol Hux from this estate. They could have written this new future together. And now, it was all coming down around them. It was falling apart and both of them were shattered into pieces.

It would have been so easy to say it: I love you. Three easy words that held so much of his admiration and his feeling toward Ben. Those three words would encompass everything he’d felt over the past few months and so much more. They had the potential to be enough to make Ben stay and force Rey to go. They had the power to change the future they were walking toward; the future that neither of them wanted to go toward. Armitage held so much power with those three words and he could be selfish and give them breath. He could be the selfish party and keep Ben here, even when he was being torn apart. The Armitage Hux of a year ago would be more than happy to manipulate him in such a manner. He would have been happy to even hit him, as his darker thoughts had been insisting.

_But what would that have brought you? More emptiness. More pain. You would be better off dead._

Perhaps he was. Perhaps they both were.

Ben’s face mirrored how broken Armitage felt inside. When he stepped forward, Armitage did not step back. Instead, he stepped forward as well but did not touch him. Nor did Ben touch him.

“Why do you have to go?”

It was a childish question at its core but it was true and it was honest. Armitage asked another question: “Why do you have to listen to her?”

“I’m not--” But Ben knew he was.

“If you truly gave a damn about us, you wouldn’t leave!”

“I’m only trying to--”

“To what?!” Armitage was shouting now. “To do your duty? Look around, Ben! Who is there to appreciate your duty? Your mother? The New Republic? Not me! I think it’s fucking ridiculous! And it’s taking you away from everything! From me! Is that what you want?”

Ben grabbed his arms, now, and Armitage responded by grabbing onto the man’s neck. Not to strangle him, though that thought did cross his mind. Their heads moved closer to one another and Armitage feverishly whispered, “Is that what you truly want? Do you want to be away from me?”

“No.” Ben shook his head and pulled Armitage closer. The kiss could barely be called a kiss. It was the crushing of lips together, much as had happened days prior in the kitchen. It was begging, it was vulnerable, it was pathetic. It was desperation. “—I love you.”

That confession should have sent his heart soaring. It should have fixed everything in a pretty little package. It should have drastically changed their world. And yet here they were in the midst of the storm.

Armitage’s forehead desperately pressed against Ben’s when the poor excuse for a kiss broke. His eyes remained closed and Ben was the one who broke the silence with a repeated, “I love you.”

Those words. Those words hurt worse than anything else he was feeling. Even still, he accepted them and brought his mouth to Ben’s once again. Even if there was the smallest hint of joy to be felt, he wanted to feel it before it was extinguished once again.

_Then why are you leaving?_

There was a response. _I won’t. I won’t leave you. I’ll tell her tomorrow. I won’t go. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

Armitage tucked his face into Ben’s neck as the two men embraced. Ben’s hands pressed against his shoulder and side as he hugged him and one of Armitage’s hands cradled the back of Ben’s head. Yet, even though this moment should have marked a turning point and victory for Armitage, the former general’s heart could not help but feel unsettled.

His eyes opened and he stared at the woods expanding behind Ben. And as Ben seemed to comfortably hold onto him and focus on him, Armitage’s brain was exploring an alternate train of thought.

* * *

The only matter in which they touched one another was to pull each other close when they’d settled into the bed. Ben was just as exhausted as Armitage if not more. He’d fallen asleep almost immediately while Armitage, true to form, had stayed awake. If he’d dozed off, it was only for a few minutes before his eyes were open again. Both of them had changed into dry, warm clothes before falling into bed together under Armitage’s warm and untouched covers.

The former general hadn’t slept, either, but he was more used to it than Ben was. He’d also fueled himself on caf and cigarettes during the hours he knew Ben and Rey to be sleeping. Or, rather, that they were supposed to have been sleeping. But he’d made his way to the kitchen regardless to fill his cup over and over again with caf until he felt it radiating through his system, keeping him awake through pure persistency alone.

It was very late at night when Armitage managed to pull himself out of Ben’s arms and to the bathroom to relieve himself. After washing his hands, he stood at the doorway and looked at Ben’s sleeping figure. His back was facing Armitage but the man could still picture the peaceful look on Ben’s face. He could even see how his fingers curled into the empty spot Armitage had left. The red-haired man leaned his temple against the doorframe as he memorized the sight, just as he’d memorized so many other instances of Ben sleeping. This one seemed bittersweet. He took it in for as long as he could.

Slowly and silently, Armitage dressed. He pulled on actual trousers and a shirt then his boots, which had thankfully dried. He regarded Ben with a touch of his hair and a slight caress of the face before he left the room, making sure to close the door behind him. He made sure to be quiet going down the stairs as to not wake Ben or Rey. He was more than certain she was asleep, even if he hadn’t seen her for nearly three days.

As he reached the basement, he saw movement down the hall in the kitchen. His steps were slow and measured as he came to terms with who or what he would see when he went into the room. Of course, it was Rey.

A mug was held between her hands. Her hips were leaned against the counter as she stared at an opposite wall. She was dressed in a simple grey robe that was tied around her body. Her hair was down and loose which further accentuated how youthful her face was. Rey did not seem surprised that he was there, but also not as if she had been expecting him. There was a moment where Armitage wondered if she was going to leave. There certainly seemed to be evidence that she was; how she stood her full weight on her feet and seemed as if she were intruding. Bitterly, Armitage thought that she was. But the anger was something he’d be clinging to for the past few days. Now, he was exhausted. All of it exhausted him.

“—Is there anything left in the kettle?”

Rey seemed surprised by how calm Armitage’s voice was. “It’s gone cold,” she replied.

Armitage paid it no mind. He went to refill the kettle and set it on the stovetop, turning the heat on high then going to get himself a teabag as well as a mug. He dropped the bag in the mug and looked at the kettle before looking at Rey. She was watching him measuredly but not with any antagonism. It was almost as if she feared him. No, fear wasn’t the right word. It reminded Armitage of the way in which people watched a fragile object.

“What you saw,” he began, feeling some difficulty in bringing it up. “Do not mention the specifics of it to Ben. I don’t think I could stand another look of pity.” His lips pressed together as he considered something else. “I’ve never liked pity. Though, I suppose, who does?”

Rey said nothing in response. Good. Her body only angled to give him her full attention. One hand raised to push her hair behind her ear, as if that would allow her to be a better listener.

Armitage knew a watched kettle never boiled so he made himself look at Rey. “—When he came here, I asked him to kill me. I…broke down one day. In here, actually. Making tea.” Despite the brutality of that memory, he smiled upon reflection. It wasn’t a genuine smile but rather a smile of a man who had lived through so much in such a short span of time. “I’m not asking for your pity, now, don’t think that. But I did ask him to kill me. Because being here was too much. I didn’t know how I could stand it a day longer, especially with him being here. I hated him. I hated him for what he had done to me, to the First Order. I was suffering. I wanted him to end it. It felt like the right way to end my suffering. All of my career, in the past five years, I’d struggled against him. I’d fought for power and I’d lost. I’d fought for what I believed in and I lost it all. Hell, even the officers who believed in the Order as strongly as I did turned on me. Granted, they were not loyal to me but to my father and to Kylo Ren. After that, being brought here, I truly had nothing left.” His eyes searched her face and he continued, “I’d almost wished the blaster had finished the job. Things could have been so much simpler for the two of us if it had, no?” He touched the lid of the kettle with his barren hand. “So I asked him to kill me. But I just can’t seem to die. It’s funny, really, don’t you think? That I can’t seem to die? If I had, it would have made your job so easy.”

“I don’t want you to die, Hux,” Rey responded.

Her voice was as soft as it was when she spoke to Ben; caring and gentle. There was no firmness and no hatred with how she had addressed him before. Armitage wondered how much of that was due to his own address of her. He wasn’t being vicious nor did he hold animosity. Like before, he was simply too exhausted of it all to feel anything akin to hatred.

“I don’t want you to die,” Rey repeated. “—All of us were uncertain how you would be if Ben brought you to Chandrila. Ben seemed certain he could convince you to come with him in two weeks. Three weeks the most. Poe and Finn--”

“Wanted me to die,” Armitage finished.

Rey nodded. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t? You must have.”

“---I was afraid. I sensed the conflict in Ben, obviously, when it was reported you were alive. He was so sure he could convince you to come back but he’d been feeling conflicted about his duty for a while. He didn’t quite—fit. He didn’t get along with Finn and Poe or the others.” She corrected herself. “He wasn’t at _peace_.”

The kettle began to bubble and boil. Armitage could hear it so clearly underneath everything. “Why didn’t you let him say that for himself? He’s a man. He’s thirty-one.”

Rey paused. Armitage could see her thinking. She drank from her mug and remarked the fact, “I missed his birthday.”

“You did.” Armitage continued upon his reflection as he found the positivity underlying all of it. The memories made him feel lighter, happier. “I got him a calligraphy set. He was very gracious. He loves calligraphy.”

“I know. He’ll spend hours doing it or reading about it,” Rey added, looking at her tea and reflecting with a smile.

Armitage matched the smile and added, “He’ll forget to eat or drink. His hands will be so stained with the ink and it will get everywhere. His clothes--”

“Tables, documents--”

“People,” Armitage finished, thinking of the ink marks he’d had on his skin when Ben nonchalantly touched him. He’d once fussed over it. Why had he made such a ridiculous fuss?

Rey’s slight smile met Armitage’s reflective one. “It sounds as if he had a good birthday.”

The general nodded. He thought of other, more intimate matters that had occurred that day. How they had made his heart swell and how he’d felt drunk on the _love_ he’d felt. “I think he rather enjoyed the day.”

The kettle whistled and Armitage gave it his further attention. He poured the water into the mug and watched the teabag steep. Before he put it back on the stovetop, he looked at Rey’s cup. After a beat, he gestured as if silently asking if she needed it to be refilled. Slowly, Rey extended the cup over. She did not look away from Armitage as he filled her cup to the appropriate level. He didn’t blame her; he wouldn’t have trusted her with boiling water around him either.

Taking the hot mug in his hands, Armitage wrapped his fingers around it and regarded the liquid as he pondered his memories. He asked again, “Why didn’t you let him speak for himself?”

Rey’s fingers worked around the rim of her mug. Gently, she blew off the steam. “—I wanted to protect him,” she answered. “It’s not a good excuse but it’s the truth. He’s…I don’t need to say it. We both know how he is. I don’t know if that’s ever going to go away for him. He wasn’t thinking straight. I only wanted to help him.”

“He’s only followed what others said,” Armitage pointed out. “He’s followed the paths laid out for him because that’s the only thing he knows.” In a way, he could relate. “He doesn’t know how to forge his own without disappointing others.”

“Without disappointing either of us,” Rey confirmed. Her sigh sunk her shoulders. “I don’t mean to force him into this position. Or you.”

Armitage’s eyes squinted at her. Rey corrected herself. “Maybe I didn’t consider how important you are to him.”

He thought of those words Ben had said. “You must have known.”

“I did.” Rey confirmed. But then, her head shook and she confessed, “But I don’t understand it.”

Armitage gave her a curious look. “Why?” Then there was a realization. “ Because I am who I am?”

“Honestly? Yes.” Rey drank from her mug and forced herself to keep looking at Armitage as she spoke. “You’re no better than Palpatine was. You destroyed an entire system, killing so many beings. Innocent beings. You don’t regret it. I couldn’t understand why Ben was so convinced you would come to Chandrilla. Even yesterday, when he was trying to convince you in his own way, I couldn’t understand it. Why wouldn’t he just leave you behind for the good of the galaxy? We need him. I didn’t understand why he wanted to be stuck here with a killer who didn’t regret anything he had done.”

Armitage felt himself going cold as he listened to Rey. Slowly, he brought his mug to his lips and drank the liquid. It warmed his body but it did not quell the justified reactions he had to her words.

Rey’s nails pressed into the ceramic of her own mug. “And then, when I saw you in that room, I realized why you didn’t want him to go.”

“Did you see it?” Armitage quietly asked. Then he tried to clarify, asking, “Did you see _why--_?”

“Do I have to?” But the way in which Rey asked it wasn’t one of reluctance; it was genuinely asking permission. It was careful and calculated as to not cause further upset to the man standing before her. “I don’t think I need to. You’re not—You’re not who I thought you were. That doesn’t change too much of what I think but it does change some of it.”

“What does it change for you?”

“You’re not the monster that I thought you were. Not entirely.”

Her inhale shook. Rey admitted, “I heard what you were thinking. When I saw you and before I left. I realized it was like Ben said the day before I arrived. He had said you needed him and I didn’t believe it until I heard it from you. There’s a part of him inside of you now but even if there wasn’t, you are so bound to him that I would have heard you regardless. You don’t want me to take him from you.”

Another harsh, hard swallow of hot tea down his throat. The mug was held close against his chest as he considered her words. There was nothing to consider, really. She knew everything. Armitage didn’t exactly see the point in hiding anything from Rey at this point. He still hated her and he knew she didn’t like him.

“And I thought ‘a monster couldn’t ask that of anyone’,” Rey continued. Her voice caught at the end of her words. Her chest rose and fell at a faster pace but she was ultimately composed besides that and the pinching of her features as she kept her emotions at bay. “A monster can’t ask for something so pure as to not be left alone. To not be loved and feel the love he’d just been given.”

The mention of love grabbed his attention. It was one thing to think of that word and that feeling in relation to Ben but it was another to hear it said aloud; especially from someone he did not particularly like and whom he felt he was vying for power against. But Armitage knew better than to protest the point. He knew what she meant. Even still, the statement that he felt Ben’s love was still confronting to him and pulled him out of an uncomfortable, undeserving hole he’d forced himself into.

Rey set the mug down so her hands were free. “You love him.”

There was no way of escaping this any longer. The words clenched in his heart. Slowly, Armitage managed to say, “—I love him.”

Something reverberated in his mind and body. _I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him._

Yes—he loved Ben Solo. He loved him with his body, his mind, his soul. Armitage thought back to the day they had kissed for the first time; a day that was, remarkable, just as rainy as this day had been. He thought to how they’d laid together in bed and he’d willed himself to never forget how he felt in that moment. It had broken his heart in the best way instead of the worst.

Armitage recalled his exact thoughts: _I want to remember this. I want to remember this even when I grow old and forgetful. If I remember anything, I want to remember this moment. I want to remember how it made me feel. How **you** made me feel._

The mug was settled down on the counter. Armitage pulled himself together. He swore it would be the last time he would do so. A general did not fret about when hard decisions had to be made. A proper general made the right judgement call. And he was a proper general.

“And that is why,” Armitage informed, “he must leave Arkanis and go with you. Because I love him.”

Rey looked genuinely surprised at his words. “Ben won’t accept that.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Armitage informed her. “And he doesn’t need to understand, either.” Perhaps Ben would never understand. That was okay. Or, at least, they both had to be okay with it. “But do this one thing for me. Give him two more days here. Let me tell him myself and then you two can leave.”

Rey was at a loss for words. This was unprecedented. She could do nothing but accept his words with a slow nod. There was a feeling of mutual respect and agreement which passed between the two of them. It seemed they could agree on one thing; Ben needed this closure. Armitage needed the closure, as well. They needed a little more time before Rey and Ben could leave. Armitage wouldn’t have ever dreamed he would reach this sort of agreement with Rey but he supposed these were unprecedented times, indeed. Their worlds had changed so fast in the span of two years; who’s to say it couldn’t keep changing?

Rey’s arms folded tightly across her chest and she looked at the floor as if the words she wanted to say were there. When she looked at Armitage, her face was drawn with concern and the seriousness of the conversation. “This isn’t going to go over well.”

“I know it won’t,” Armitage replied quietly. He thought of Ben so peacefully asleep in their bed, so unknowing of what was to come. “Tomorrow, I’m going to go into town. When I return, I will tell him. It’s what I have to do. And then, when two days are over, regardless of his reaction or what he says, he’ll go with you. I will grant you that one certainty if you agree to this.”

His hand extended to hers. Slowly, Rey accepted the hand and they shook.

“Agreed.”

* * *

It was just past dawn by the time he arrived in town. The lights of the shops were just coming on and the market carts were being set up. Armitage paid them no mind. He walked to the shop and tried opening the door. Luckily, it was open. The chime of the bell sounded as he entered.

Maris Veers appeared from the back of the shop. The older man had a warm, dark green jumper on his body and covered by a coat. The scar on his head crinkled as he noticed Armitage walk in and look at the inventory. Strange; it hadn’t been too long since the young man had come in. There was hardly time to give a proper greeting before Armitage spoke.

“Did you just restock?” Questioned the red-haired man, looking at the selection of pens. “I didn’t see these the last time I was in.”

“We did,” answered Maris Veers. He stepped from behind the counter and joined Armitage, though he did not look at what he was looking at. Instead, the older man’s eyes were trained on Armitage’s pale face and dark-circled eyes. “—You’re not sleeping.”

“Some unexpected events have occurred,” replied Armitage. His expression faltered and his eyes lost focus of what he was looking at.

Maris slowly nodded. His hand went to Armitage’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and drawing the younger man out of his stupor. “Come in the back. I have a fine selection of tea I’ve been meaning to share with someone.”

“What about the shop?” Asked Armitage.

In response, Maris limped around him to the door. He turned the sign to closed and shut the door. Then, he dimmed the illuminators. The older man gave a pointed look at Armitage and limped forward, patting his shoulder as he passed. “Come along. I’ll put a kettle on.”

The corners of Armitage’s lips raised a fraction as he followed Maris to the back of the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	24. Chapter 24

“No, no sweetener please.”

Maris’ scar crinkled as he looked at Armitage in surprise. “Telling me you don’t want sweetener. What sort of man are you to drink your tea bitter?”

Armitage was met with surprise as he brought the tea to his lips and drank it. It was the perfect consistency. Bitter, yes, but perfect. He found it hard to find others who understood his dislike of sweeteners or other such additives to tea or caf. He watched Maris add the spooned sweetener crystals to his own tea, using the same spoon to stir it around. One spoonful of sweetener. Interesting.

“I rather like it. The true taste of the tea is not hidden by anything artificial,” Armitage explained, holding the mug in his hands. His fingers traced over the rim and felt the steam warming his skin.

The scar further crinkled with Maris’ deep frown and he made a deep grunting sound which remained pitted in his chest. It almost reminded Armitage of Brendol but it didn’t unsettle him or anger him as it would have if it had been Brendol. Rather, he was somewhat amused by the pettiness of it. As if to further amuse him, Maris put another spoonful of sweetener into his own tea and clinked the spoon against the inside of the mug. Armitage wondered if it was just his imagination or if the clink was meant to be quite so loud that it pinged through his ears.

“This tea,” the older man continued, “needs a bit of sweetener. You can’t let it be too bitter. It warms you up but it’ll come back to bite you with its aftertaste. It’s fickle that way.”

Armitage lauded the man a skeptical look. “I’ve never drank my tea with sweetener. Any tea.” He brought the mug to his lips and drank again. Still perfect. “It’s all a matter of taste.”

“I suppose it is. My husband is the same way.”

“The husband whose presents you tended to break?” Armitage asked, recalling the anecdote.

Maris smiled in response and tapped the spoon at the rim of the mug, creating a dinging sound. “Yes. He likes bitter tea as well. I’ve never understood it. But there are things I’ll never understand and that is what I must find peace with. Even if it’s people who do not use sweetener with their tea.”

He reached a hand up to rub at his balding head. Armitage drank more of his own tea and set it down before glancing at the room around them.

The back of the store was not quite small but not quite large. The interior was a warm wood which betrayed the gloomy exterior environment. There were boxes of items to sell as well as what Armitage assumed to be books. There had to be books, stationary, and other items to write on or read from in order to improve at calligraphy. There were shelving units as well as a small desk. But it didn’t seem as if it were used for more than stacking items on. There seemed to be a door leading out to the back of the shop. Armitage assumed shipments must come in from there.

“Does anyone else work with you?” He questioned, looking back at his host.

Maris’ brow raised. Now that Armitage was really sitting close to the man, he noticed how his eyes were a grey color that almost bordered on blue. It was an interesting mix of color he hadn’t truly seen before. The eyes seemed so young for someone quite old. Armitage meant nothing insulting by it but it was true that Maris was older—perhaps nearer to his seventies or even slightly over that but not as old as he might think. He’d once thought of his father’s generation as a bunch of old men who didn’t know their time was up. He’d thought it was best if they disappeared; perhaps to go off and fade into the ether never to be remembered again while the younger generation took over. But perhaps Armitage had only seen the age and wearing of years in their eyes. In Maris’, however, youth still prevailed despite the uncomfortable way in which the man moved and how he occasionally rubbed his leg; perhaps where he had been wounded years before.

“My daughter comes in, sometimes,” Maris answered. “My husband checks in but he doesn’t do well with the chill nowadays so he mainly stays home.”

“How far is home from the center of town?”

“A little beyond the markets, near the brook. It’s not a bad walk. It’ll be worse the older I get.” Again, Maris rubbed his leg and tapped the spot twice.

Armitage made a mental note and drank from his cup. He settled it in his hands on the tops of his thighs. In that moment he felt a bit bashful, though bashful would be an embarrassing term to admit aloud. Uncomfortable was a better descriptor to how he felt. Never had he sought advice for such matters. Discussing this situation with Rey had done enough damage to his ego but Armitage was too far gone to turn back. His fingers tapped the sides of the cup as he wagered the way in which he would bring up this conversation. It wasn’t an easy thing for him despite the insistence on being here so early in the day.

It didn’t necessarily have to damage his ego. Many leaders sought advice. Then again, he’d always been so independent and that was something Armitage had prided himself on. But then came his exile. Then came Ben, and now here he was.

Thankfully, he seemed to be saved by Maris’ interjection. “You didn’t come to ask me about my personal life over a cup of tea.” The older man said, moving his tea aside on the tabletop so he could lean his elbow against it. His head and neck craned toward the left so his face was in Armitage’s field of vision. It was successful in drawing Armitage’s attention from his innermost thoughts back to reality and to the situation at hand. There was no weight nor value in avoiding any of this. Armitage had begun taking those steps and now he was here.

“No,” Armitage confirmed, “I did not.”

“Out with it, then.”

Those were words his own father had used. Armitage often recalled being summoned to Brendol’s office aboard various Star Destroyers to give daily reports of his own progress as well as the progress of his Stormtroopers. It had filled him with anger and indignation then. Now, not so much. The way in which Maris addressed him was not full of venom nor hate as Brendol’s voice had always seemed to carry. This was encouraging. Encouraging; Armitage wasn’t quite sure he liked that phrase. It felt weak. But it worked in getting the former general to speak.

“There is a…quite a personal matter that has confronted me of late.” Armitage’s fingers pressed into the tops of his knees. He felt the bone of his fingers meet the bone of his knees as he forced skin against skin. He steeled himself against the embarrassment this was drawing up and continued to speak. “One involving my friend.”

“The one you bought the inkwell for,” Maris completed, nodding as Armitage nodded in confirmation. The older man looked at his own lap and then to Armitage, scanning his face in a manner Armitage was quite accustomed to. Maris must certainly have spent time with the Imperial Army due to the manner of his look. It was strictly militaristic; searching and scouring for any bit of information without seeming as if he was prying too much. Yet anyone well-versed in the sort of military life they had been had given and been on the receiving end of that look. “Don’t tell me he broke it. That is seven-hundred and seventy-five credits you spent.”

Armitage shook his head. Any other day he may have laughed but the only thing he had to show was a weak smile in response to what was obviously a joke. “He did not.”

“Good. I might have had to find him and belt him myself.” Maris dropped the joking tone. “Unexpected occurrences? What is that about?”

“My friend—needs to leave. Or, rather, a friend came to call. A friend of his. Rather—she’s come to collect him.”

“Collect him?”

“Yes, well, that does seem to be that turn of phrase that comes to mind.” Armitage swallowed down the remainder of his tea and cleared his throat. It felt as if he were swallowing something hard and not liquid. It seemed to hurt as it worked its way down his throat and into his stomach where it felt as if it sunk like a stone. His fingers twitched as he set the cup down. “My friend has some unfinished business to attend to. And he should be leaving.”

Maris hummed deeply in his chest. It was rumbling and thoughtful as if he were considering strategy. “Are you upset by it?”

“By what?” The defense was suddenly drawn back up. Maris would have had to have been an idiot not to notice. He gave the younger man a look saying just that. Armitage, miffed, scowled. “What are you asking that I am upset by?”

“Him leaving,” Maris clarified. He eased his back against the chair again and grunted, adjusting his jumper around his body. “If you weren’t upset, you wouldn’t be here.”

Armitage challenged him out of pure habit. “Wouldn’t I?”

“No, you wouldn’t.” The older man shook his head and rose to his feet. “More tea?”

Armitage shook his head and went on. “How can you assume that?”

“Because, if you were entirely satisfied with him leaving, you wouldn’t look like such a wreck.” Maris walked with kettle in hand to bring it back to his stove. He poured himself a glass of water and then another. With his back turned, Maris posed his own question: “Are you here seeking my help? Because you won’t get it if you’re being facetious. I’m an old man but I’ve seen many things. I’ve said all that has to be said and I’ve done many things you’ve probably done. Your father wasn’t the sort of man to do things that were ‘unnecessary’.”

“I’m not my father,” Armitage coolly replied. There was a strength that came with verbalizing that phrase. He realized it as Maris turned to meet his face. It only threw him off for a second. “I am not my father,” he repeated, “and this is necessary to me to discuss with someone.”

Maris came back over with the two glasses and handed one to Armitage, who accepted it courteously. He brought the glass to his mouth and drank from it then set it down just by his tea cup. He breathed in through his nose then out through his mouth as he cleared his mind and the allusive manner in which he’d been discussing this uncomfortable topic. And just as he thought it, Maris said it.

“Whatever is happening, it’s not easy for you.”

A rush of air was blown out of Armitage’s nose in a silent, reflexive scoff. _Obviously_.

The old man’s calm bass continued despite the interjection. “Are you going to tell it to me straight so I can help you?”

Oh how Armitage wanted to rebel. But who to rebel against? Against himself, who had been so urgent and insistent that it was the right choice to clear his thoughts and approach Ben with a cohesive and clear explanation as to why he needed to leave? Or against Maris, who was speaking to him in such a kind but direct manner that made him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Was it because Maris was kind to him? Was that why Armitage was being indirect even against his own will and desire? Because the rejection was something he’d known for his entire life and it was the most comfortable spot in his world. Knowing and expecting rejection was easier for him than knowing and expecting kindness. Because kindness, in Armitage’s world, only gave way to pain.

Again, Maris’ voice cut into his voice. “Armitage.”

The way his name was said touched the injured heart in his chest. It was _kind_.

He recalled moments when Rae Sloane would occasionally see to his progress; when she would come into the training sessions he had with his troops or his own private training sessions. She had been the one to suggest blasters and had even gifted him one of his first personal ones for his birthday. It wasn’t the best model but it was what their small armory had at the time he’d turned thirteen. Though it wasn’t the best nor what he’d dreamt of, it was coded to his fingerprint. How she’d gotten it Armitage couldn’t begin to say but it had been, dare he say, kind. He’d thought of that gesture for half a day until other matters buried the feelings of kindness and care deep under the tasks of the day.

Now this was a gift of a different kind. This was kindness of a measure which Armitage couldn’t comprehend. Ben was certainly kind to him but that was different. This was—Frankly, this filled a missing gap.

Armitage warily, cautiously looked at Maris and felt his guard lower. The man looked at him in a manner that he couldn’t comprehend.

_Is this how fathers look at their sons?_

Armitage dared to think it for a moment before he pushed through and focused on the man before him. His head was empty; drained of all these thoughts for the current moment. He could dwell and wax poetic on them at a later time.

Maris asked, “What is happening?”

“—He’s leaving because he feels guilty. Because he feels he needs to right all of his wrongs and to continue a legacy. A legacy of something I don’t care to understand. I think it ridiculous. I think...I think he should leave it be. He should never think of it again and stay here. He’s happy here.”

“Is he?”

This time, Armitage did laugh a bitter laugh. “He is. I don’t understand but he is utterly satisfied here. Not by---not because of me but because of all of it. He likes being outside walking the grounds. He likes the mundanity of it all, He likes keeping the fires going and even when I beat him at Dejarik.”

“Dejarik,” Maris repeated with fondness. “He’s no good?”

“On the contrary. He’s rather good. I’m just better than him.”

The two men’s eyes met and Armitage chuckled to himself as he drank from his water glass and settled with his thoughts. “He’s happy here,” he repeated forlornly.

“But if he was entirely happy here, he wouldn’t be leaving Maris rightfully questioned. “If he likes it here—and if he likes it here with you—then why is he leaving? Just tell him not to leave.”

“I have.” Armitage continued, “I’ve told him my thoughts and what I want him to do.”

Maris let the silence happen. He gave Armitage the opportunity to continue but the former general did not. The older man tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. “But.”

“But,” acknowledged Armitage. He drained the glass of water as if it were liquor, wincing after finishing as he swallowed all of it down his throat. Again, it felt as if it hardened in his throat and was being forced downward into his gut. “I know he will regret it if he does not go.”

“Because he has things he needs to attend to? Unfinished business, I’m assuming?”

Armitage nodded. He wagered just how much more to share. It was as if he was speaking about a confidential, top secret project. But instead of something rather glorious, he felt as if he were speaking of something rather grim; as if delivering bad news to Snoke or some other commanding officer. “He does.”

Maris took this information in silence. He drank from his own glass then remained in his seat, his back pressed against it as he was lost in his own thoughts. The only sound which could be heard was the sounds of beings and carts moving outside as the day truly began. It wasn’t raining though Armitage wouldn’t be surprised if a storm rolled in later in the day. He would, hopefully, be back home before then with his thoughts and actions justified.

“I’m assuming this business is serious?”

“To him it is.” Armitage pressed his lips together for a moment and rubbed his jaw. “Like I said previously, I think it’s foolish and ridiculous.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes it’s better to let the past die and burn.”

Maris noted the energy with which Armitage put into that response. His eyes, again, seemed to examine the younger man. “What does it involve? Family?”

Armitage wagered his response. “Partly. Actually, yes. Yes, it does. Family no longer living.”

“Ah. A legacy. As you said.” Maris nodded and finished his water. “Legacies always tend to get people into trouble.”

“That is a curious response,” Armitage pointed out.

The older man shook his head and set his glass down. “It isn’t,” he answered. “Not when you really think about it.”

“What does that possibly mean?”

Maris leaned forward with his arm pressed against the table. “I wager that most of the issues in this galaxy are caused by family legacies or trying to uphold them. Look at every family and the biggest problems are trying to uphold legacies or memories. Traditions, too! Trying to please a whole lot of dead people who don’t give a damn. Why? Because they’ve been dead for years! Eons, even! And if they really gave a shit, they would be here fixing things. Eh?” He squinted and gestured toward Armitage. “Your father. Would he be pleased with anything you’ve done?”

His answer was automatic and short. “No.”

“Neither would mine.” Maris shook his head. “Would have lost his head to hear I’d left the Imperial Army. All to get married, settle down, and have a family. That was something he would never understand.”

“You’re wrong about them not knowing. They know,” Armitage answered. “They always know regardless if they are dead or not.”

“You’re one of those?” Maris’ scar crinkled as he raised his brows. “Jedis were one of those lot, as well. Believed in that Force. How everything remains or something like that.”

Armitage bitterly shook his head and lowered his eyes to his table. “I’m not here to talk about spirituality with you,” he snapped. “I’m talking about—about--” But he couldn’t exactly find those words. His fingers splayed outward then closed into a fist which aggressively tapped at the table as the frustration flowed through him. “This isn’t why I’m here.”

“No. No, it’s not,” observed the man across from him. There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. “You’re here about your friend.”

“I think it’s stupid for him to leave. It’s pointless. All of it is pointless to me and I think he should stay. He has to stay.”

Maris leaned back to give the younger man some space. “But you’re worried he’ll regret not going. Because of this ‘legacy’ he needs to satiate.”

Fair brows furrowed at the word choice but Armitage nodded. His eyes were still cast downward as it helped him concentrate. “Yes. He’ll regret it. I know it. I’ve known him for too long, now, and I know how it will destroy him. More than it already is.”

There was that deep, thoughtful humming again. “So?”

“So--” Armitage lifted his head. He now leaned his forearms on the tops of his thighs and clasped his hands together. His right leg started to bounce while his weight concentrated on the ball of his foot. All of his anxious energy channeled there. “—He needs to leave. And I need to tell him.” His head bowed and he pushed his hands through his hair. His fingers twisted and tugged at the strands. As he spoke, his voice was slightly muted by his downward position. “I don’t know if I’m making the right decision.”

“Who are you making it for?”

This was a question he had not entirely been expecting. Yes, he might have unconsciously confronted himself with this question. But he hadn’t consciously expected it when he’d decided to go to Maris for this private advice. He hadn’t been expecting much, if he was being honest; Armitage had only known he needed to speak to someone else about this. The only other person had been Rey and he knew he couldn’t privately express these feelings to her in a comfortable manner. Who better else than a person who was more like a stranger? Though, yes he was a stranger, Maris’ brief conversations with him the previous times he’d been at the store had struck Armitage in a manner he hadn’t been struck before. Even this conversation was a rather confrontational one he’d never experienced so personally on such a platonic level.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” Maris’ arms folded across his chest. “Who are you making this decision for? Who is it ultimately going to benefit?”

“What the hell do you mean? I’m making it for him.”

“Because?”

“Because he’ll regret it if he doesn’t go! Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. Now, why will he regret it if he doesn’t go?” Maris didn’t seem bothered one bit. “Tell me why you think that.”

“Why I think that? I know it,” insisted Armitage. “Despite everything, despite who he is now, he’s desperate still. He’s desperate to prove something and to be accepted by someone. By his family. But they’re all dead so the next best thing is _her_.”

“Her?” Questioned Maris.

“—She’s ruined everything. She’s ruined him. Everything he could have been back then and everything he is now.” Armitage began to rant, to expel these thoughts from his soul. His hands clasped together and pressed against his lips. The shaking of his leg intensified. “We were happy. I thought he was happy. I thought it was all _enough_.”

Maris watched Armitage and moved his chair an inch closer to the younger man. He listened as Armitage continued, “If he didn’t have the family he had, he wouldn’t have been in this situation. We could have been happy. It could all have been so different. So entirely different from how it is now--”

“Armitage,” Maris said. He didn’t lean forward to touch Armitage but he might as well have from the way his head shot up. The old man’s head shook and a sympathetic look was leveled. “It wouldn’t have happened. What happened between you two wouldn’t have happened if he had been born into a different family. And if you had a different father, you wouldn’t be here. Neither would I, for that matter. And you wouldn’t be here in the back of my store. You wouldn’t feel these feelings for your friend. For--”

“Ben,” Armitage replied. “His name is Ben.”

“For Ben,” finished Maris. “I don’t want to presume but is Ben more than a friend to you?”

The hands unclasped and Armitage scrubbed one over his face and through his hair, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he did. “Yes.” It was easier to say it not looking at Maris, while Armitage was totally distracted and disconnected from the older man.

A deep, chesty hum sounded. A hum of understanding. “You know, the same thing happened when I was in the Imperial Army.”

There was a scoff and Armitage shot a scowl at the older man. “The same thing could not have happened to you.”

“Well, no. Not entirely the same situation. I was on leave for a time, recovering from a leg injury.” Maris patted his leg. “I was meant to be on leave for two weeks. Three at the most. Ended up on leave for nearly two months.” He smirked and winked at Armitage’s intrigued face. “Same old story. I met a boy. A young man, really, who was no older and no younger than I. Caido, was his name. He was the most _handsome_ man I ever met. He was an engineer at a weapons factory. He’d earned enough credits to even afford a week. Luckily for him, he was handsome enough that by the end of the week I didn’t mind paying a bit more for a second person in my accommodations.”

The older man paused as he reflected; on nostalgia, no doubt. The softness in his face caused every muscle in his body relax. Even the scar on his face seemed to lose its crinkled appearance. It didn’t last too long, however, as Maris seemed to break through the haze of nostalgia to continue on. “Well, soon enough, I received communication to return. I’d more than recovered by then. I was simply besotted at that point.”

“So besotted you didn’t want to leave,” Armitage stated.

In confirmation, Maris nodded. “But here was the issue; duty. Love is the death of duty, as it is said. The Empire knew this. So I agonized over it for days. I had the thought, more than once, of deserting with Caido. He was originally from here, you know. It was rather convenient. Of course, not the wisest decision. You know what desertion means, of course.”

Naturally, he did.

“I considered it. I actually considered it. And I agonized over it. When I say agonized---” The older man chuckled. “I was unbearable. Caido both comforted and couldn’t stand me. Bless him, he did his best to understand what I was thinking even though I did my best to push him away. I wouldn’t speak to him for half a day as I tried to decide what was best.”

“How did you decide what was best?” Armitage leaned forward as if he could stare the answer right in its face.

Maris smiled easily at the younger man. “I spoke to him. I was honest, even though it was hard. And I didn’t want to be. If we deserted together, we would regret it for the rest of our lives. We’d be looking over our shoulders. Things would be much harder for the two of us and we’d resent one another. Resent is a breeding ground for other issues. For all we knew, we would end up separating. Then what would it all have been for, hmm? What would it all have been worth if we ended up miserable, hating each other, and separating.” He grew more serious. “That is what I agonized over. I agonized over the potential ‘What-Ifs’. Not only would our lives have been in danger but the precious life that was the love we had just begun to share with one another. And that was perhaps the most precious, most fragile, thing of all. To risk it all and potentially end up with nothing left but hatred at the end? To ruin two lives?”

Armitage was rather quiet as the questions were posed to him. He internalized them, obviously, and tried to imagine his own future if he simply made Ben stay. Just as he’d thought; regret, anger, resentment. The wondering of what might have been. Then again, that was absolutely potential if he went through with insisting Ben left. The wondering of what might have been and the mourning. Yes, there would be mourning. But wouldn’t there also be mourning if Armitage forced Ben to leave?

“There’s no winning, is there? Was there no winning for you?”

“Define ‘winning’,” Maris lightly challenged.

So Armitage attempted. “There was no way either of you could be happy. No matter what decision you made, it wouldn’t be the one which made you both happy. Nothing could satisfy you both.”

The older man tipped his head to the side. “You have a point there,” he conceded. “But which decision would have made us the more miserable?”

The realization weighed heavily on his heart as well as his chest. Armitage’s shoulders noticeably slumped. “—The one that your heart wanted to pursue,” he answered, “Desertion.”

“We were young. A little younger than you, perhaps, but love doesn’t discriminate based on age. When you feel that desire, that attraction, that love toward someone, you fall into it head-over-heels. You’re blind to everything that could go wrong until you force yourself to wake up. And only when you wake up do you see the risks reality provides.” Maris’ fingers tapped on the table as he continued his recollection. “It wasn’t an easy conversation at all. Many tears. But it was a conversation that had to happen. And even though I wanted nothing more than to leave the Empire behind, I knew it couldn’t be. But we made a vow to one another, Caido and I. When I left the Empire, I would come to him on Arkanis. And if, in my heart, I still felt that spark of love for him which I felt at that moment, then we would be together. We would begin our lives as if nothing had happened.”

The skeptical look was not missed by the elder man. “Not as if nothing had happened. We thought of it as a stepping off point. A pause. A way for us to grow after meeting and come back together stronger. Without strength and growth, a relationship has nothing. It cannot properly flourish. We thought of it that way and promised to one another that once I was finished with my service to the empire, I would go to him on Arkanis.”

Armitage’s knuckles pressed against his lips as he digested this information. Maris’ serious, conversational expression gave way to ease. “But wouldn’t you know it, my injury got worse. I was no longer of use to the Empire as I was. That was quite alright with me. Wounded my pride a bit but I knew it was time. It was more than time, in fact. It hadn’t been more than three years after Caido and I had met but I knew I couldn’t keep going at that rate. So I was discharged and made my way to Arkanis. That was the first place I wanted to go.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Queried Armitage.

The older man huffed. “Bloody terrified.” He chuckled and Armitage even cracked a weakened smile. “Hell, I didn’t know if he even remembered me. Three years is a long time. But I kept faith. Sometimes you just have to keep faith. It’s the only thing you can do. You have to keep the faith that the bond you’ve built together is strong enough to withstand the greatest trials. I had to keep the faith as I landed on this planet. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. I don’t know how the hell I found where he was but I stumbled into some pub and there he bloody was. And he was just as handsome as he was the day I’d met him.”

Maris’s eyes moistened and he blinked a few times before wiping them. “Just as handsome as he was the day I’d met him. And we shared a few drinks, we talked. We caught up on everything that had happened. He’d left the weapons factory to work on the fishing industry here. He also worked at fixing ships that came to the planet. It was a nice little living he’d created for himself...”

Then Maris fell silent. His lips curled upward in a closed-mouthed smile and his eyes seemed faraway. His fingers slotted together and rested over his abdomen as he leaned back in his seat and filtered through the memories. “And?” Armitage asked. He didn’t entirely want to break through the man’s nostalgia yet he needed the conclusion to it all.

Light eyes lifted to Armitage, to acknowledge him. “One child and thirty-seven years later, here we are. We’ve gotten old and weary but we still get up each morning. And do I regret it? Do I wonder if I made the right choice? I know I did. Because each day I have my husband by my side. We’ve had a wonderful life together. That was the right choice for us. Now, I can’t tell you what the right decision is. I can think it all I want, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t tell you what the right decision is for you to make, Armitage.”

He came to this silent understanding. “I know. I understand.”

“But do you see?” Maris’ voice was gentle, almost coaxing. It was like a caress. “You won’t know if these decisions are completely right until the future. You can only do what you think is best for yourself and for Ben even if it hurts. Even if it is the most painful decision in the world. He might not like it.”

“Will he hate me for it?” Armitage asked, thoughts filled with dread at the idea.

“Will you explain why you are telling him to leave?” Maris didn’t leave space for an initial answer. “Will you explain it to him in a straightforward way? Not being facetious. You need to tell him honestly even if it hurts. Even if it makes him not speak to you for an entire day. You need to tell him your reasoning. And then you need to bear it. You need to bear the weight of your decision and see it through.”

Maris’ hand went to Armitage’s shoulder, causing the man to look up at him. The older man’s eyes were so gentle it made Armitage feel uncomfortable again but he simply could not look away. He was desperate to find the answer, understanding, and comfort in this man. “Sometimes the hardest thing is the right thing,” Maris concluded.

Shakily, Armitage inhaled and exhaled. Maris’, again, smiled his gentle yet encouraging smile. His hand squeezed the younger man’s shoulder then he patted the spot reassuringly. “Now, can’t have you going off like this. You need another cup or two of tea. We’ve only just started trying what I have here!”

He couldn’t help but laugh as Maris spoke and stood, going to the kettle and filling it with new water. Armitage sat back and looked after the older man. He watched him limp as he walked and how his shoulders hunched as he went about his business. Armitage did not suddenly find Maris to be a wise, all-knowing figure. He was not a master of all knowledge like the forces and entities he’d been privy to observing in the First Order. That wasn’t what got Armitage thinking and sowing the seeds of admiration for this shopkeeper. It was the manner in which Maris had spoken to him and let him into his life; into the private moment and experience that had been his time with his now-husband and how it could relate to what Armitage was going through. It didn’t give him the answers he needed nor what he wanted. It didn’t reassure him that just because things turned out fine for Maris that it would turn out right for Armitage. But it did reassure him of this; he had to let go of the fear which was holding him back.

Even if he now denied it to himself, he’d been held back by fear and judgement for portions of his life. It even held him back now in this new phase of life. It would hold him back from making these hard decisions that touched this sensitive, gentle part of himself that was now experiencing love for the first time. Armitage was afraid of losing that love. He was afraid of being hurt and being cut off. He’d always thought love was a weakness and if he’d let himself experience those feelings and those things that swayed weaker men, that he too would be weak and succumb.

But what if, this one time, he tried something new? It would hurt, yes, but wouldn’t it hurt more to deny Ben his own catharsis? What if this, too, would be something for Ben to learn and grow from? If they loved each other, they would have to let one another go and grow on their own. Then, perhaps they could come back together stronger than ever before. And wouldn’t they then be a force to be reckoned with? Wouldn’t they have won and triumphed over everything that tried to keep them apart and push them down throughout their entire lives?

Armitage accepted the new cup of tea as Maris placed it into his hands. “Thank you,” he said as Maris began to sit in his seat.

Maris paused, looked at him, and gave a courteous nod. “Thank you for coming,” he responded. “Now, tell me; do you think you need sweetener for _that_? Or is it just as bitter as you like?”

He raised his cup to Armitage and the two men began to drink their tea as perfect mirrors of one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	25. Chapter 25

The moment he drifted off, he felt his heart and mind settle simultaneously. It was exciting to come to a decision he felt so passionately about; staying with the person he loved. He’d hardly had a stable place in his entire life. Chandrila was home in the sense he’d grown up there but it had always felt as if the ground was shifting and faltering beneath him; threatening to give way and send him falling to the molten core. Training with Luke, too, felt unstable and uncertain. Ben had felt there was something else around the corner. That had been Snoke and the allure of the First Order but that had brought him something else, something greater. He just hadn’t realized the value.

He’d diminished the importance of Armitage for far too many years. Now, when it was almost too late, Ben realized the importance of Armitage Hux in his life. He realized how crucial it was to have the man in his life every day from this point forward.

The empty place in bed should have worried him but Ben was utterly consumed by the lightness inside of him. His mind was abuzz with thoughts and ideas as well as concocting what to say to Rey when he finally saw her. He would have to tell her his decision and that he would not be going with her. He would be staying on Arkanis. He would not leave nor train a future generation of Force users. It wasn’t his destiny. His destiny had been to restore the galaxy to its balanced state, yes, but now it was time to settle and to do what made himself happy. For his entire thirty-one years, he’d been working to please others; his mother, his father, his uncle, Snoke, and now Rey. Not once had he done anything for himself. Ben trusted Rey; he knew that if she felt so passionately about training the next generation of Jedi then she could do it. She could scouer the galaxy for them and start her own academy if she wished. Ben would stay on this rainy planet and live out his days.

The lightness inside his body made him feel rather giddy and childlike. It fueled him as he dressed for the day. Ben found his reflection in the mirror and smoothed the wrinkled front of the button-down shirt he’d just put on. His dark eyes moved around the reflected features of his own face. The worn remnants of his thirty-one years were becoming more evident by the day and only emphasized by the stress and tiredness he’d been experiencing over the past few days. But even still, it wasn’t the sort of exhaustion he’d experienced as a younger man. That had been a different Ben Solo. It had been Kylo Ren, yes, but also a different Ben Solo. From this day, he was a new version of himself.

He observed as he raised his hand and fixed his hair using his index and middle fingers. Then his fingers moved to his cheek and chin. A shave was in order.

It felt almost ritualistic to prepare the shaving lather and razor. Ben thought back to when Armitage had shaved his face. It had been extremely intimate. It was amusing to feel that had happened so long ago, yet it had only been a few weeks prior. Time was moving too fast and yet just slow enough. But, Ben thought to himself, at least now he would experience this passage of time differently. He wouldn’t be anxiously looking over his shoulder or expecting something to happen and upend everything he’d worked to build. He would, at last, find stability. He would work for it and ensure it persevered.

Once he was fully shaved and dressed, Ben went downstairs to conduct his morning ritual. His lightsaber was put in his holster and gently knocked against his thigh as he thumped down the stairs. As it rhythmically bumped against him, Ben thought about how, after Rey left, he would find himself falling into a predictable yet welcome routine much like before. Except this time, he would be far more comfortable and said routine would be far more permanent. One time he may have feared such mundanity but now the prospect of it was rather inviting.

Curiously, he did not see Rey in the kitchen but he set about making himself something simple to eat then preparing himself some caf. Mug and meal in hand, Ben went upstairs to the ballroom where he again found himself alone. Even still, that did not bother him. He sat in the chair beside Armitage’s which had become his usual seat. This morning, between sips of caf and bites of food, Ben found himself taking in the sight of the ballroom much as he had in the first few days of his arrival. The detail on the walls was minor but significant; with carved designs on the molding and flecks of what had likely been a golden shade that had either dulled with age or had been a mere façade of wealth and value. It was a mostly open space with sparse décor on the walls but Ben imagined it might have been decorated properly for events decades prior. The long, solitary dining table was the only true item of note. He wondered briefly if Armitage would take it upon himself to spruce up the room. Then again, Ben highly doubted it. For all the pomp and circumstance Armitage Hux commanded, he was more of a simple and practical man who had no use for meaningless frills. Meaning _ful_ items were more sorely needed than meaningless ones.

Ben cleared his place and was headed back down the stairs when he first heard the sound of X-3 scolding another domestic droid. “X-3,” he said, walking over and setting his dishes on the domestic droid before confronting the aforementioned one, “have you seen Armitage? Or Rey?”

Whirring to attention, X-3 responded, “I have not seen Master Hux nor our other guest since quite early this morning.”

Curious. “When did you see them? Or where?”

Ben imagined the droid would have blinked if it was able to. “Master Armitage had gone down to the kitchens. Our guest—Mistress Rey—had been in the library some time ago,” the droid responded.

There was a pause from Ben as he internalized this information and slowly nodded. “If you see him before I do, let me know. Or tell him I’m going outside if he comes back before I do.”

“By the woods?”

“Yeah. Usual stuff. Let him know. Or both of them if they ask.”

“Certainly, Master Solo.”

Ben gave a casual, thankful nod to X-3 and went down the stairs toward the door to the outside. He pulled his lightsaber out of his holster and tapped his fingertips against it in a mindless musical pattern as he went down the familiar path toward the South Woods. His eyes laid upon the small tree debris as well as the debris from chopped wood. Then Ben looked at the sky to see if the weather would turn for the worse or be its grey neutral. When in doubt he assumed the grey, perhaps even drizzling weather he’d come to expect. It was a safe expectation. In fact, Ben had begun to prefer it to constant sunny weather and brightness. There was comfort in this grey weather though he knew others would find it to be rather depressing. Rey, however, rather enjoyed rainy weather. It was a fact that Ben had found endearing when he’d witnessed her reaction to a stormy day on Chandrila. She had explained to him that it never rained on Jakku so she rather enjoyed the chill and relief of a rainstorm.

She wouldn’t enjoy the news that Ben would be staying while she left, but it would be something she would have to come to terms with on her own. Ben ignited his saber and tested the weight and feeling in his grip as he began warming up his arm and motor skills. He felt the handle go from cold to warm and relaxed in his grip the more he reawakened his muscle memory. When he felt he’d warmed up enough, Ben eyed a tree trunk he’d been using for recent practice. It was an older, durable tree that he hadn’t bisected cleanly through, though there were charred marks to show his lightsaber had made contact with the bark.

Ben’s thought and focus went into his training and he found his mind wandered far less than it had for days prior. His focus was split yet it was mostly on the work he was currently doing; on the use of his muscles and his measured thrust of the blade into the tree. There was less judgement and less second-guessing. There was more thought toward how this moment would play in the not-too distant future; of Armitage, perhaps, coming to this very spot while Ben trained himself and making some comment about how his technique was poor or, rather, non-existent. Then banter, obviously, and perhaps Armitage would again take up the lightsaber and give it a try. Anything was possible, at this point, and it was as if a door to new possibilities opened up. Everything was possible now. Ben couldn’t discount anything even if he wanted to; and he sorely did not want to. There was no point to discounting anything anymore. There was no need to beg and plead at the conscious remains of former Jedi or his parents to tell him what was the right thing to do. There would be no need to search them out. Ben Solo had made a decision—his own decision. He’d grown enough to not seek out council any longer.

Though it was quite chilly out, Ben’s body soon grew flush from warmth as he trained harder. The chill of the wind and the dampness seemed not to affect him. It was as if his body was building internal defenses against the cold; not allowing it to penetrate him regardless of what was thrown at him. It only added to the burst of pride and motivation to keep working himself harder. Ben imagined obstacles and enemies in his way. He quickly trained his mind to believe this imaginary scenario and worked his muscles as if he were truly striking flesh, metal, or even shielding himself from blaster bolts.

The trunk was now completely demolished and nothing but smoldering splinters on the cool ground. One could even see steam beginning to rise from the ground if one looked close enough. But Ben was in his own world at the moment and had moved onto a different set of drills manufactured by his own mind. They were so automatic and even mundane that he didn’t spare the energy to concentrate. Sometimes he simply moved his body and trusted his instincts enough to know what he was doing.

But it was the familiarity in these movements and in training that brought him comfort as well as confidence. There was confidence that he would be able to keep training like this and keep his skills, as well as his mind and body, in shape. Just because he wouldn’t be flitting about the galaxy didn’t mean all this work was for naught. Then Ben spared a thought for the Arkanis Academy; the one Armitage’s father had run. He wondered what it was used for now or if it was even used. Perhaps he could put his attention to that and use it as his own training place.

All these thoughts were barely given life as Ben was drawn back to the cold sweat forming on his body. Inhaling in this damp climate oftentimes was akin to breathing in the coldest and wettest air. It shocked his lungs and his brain but he dismissed it as he landed an overhead strike to the ground, effectively singeing the grass and causing steam to rise from the impact. He stepped back, straightened up, and looked down at it as he gave his lungs a break.

“I still think you need to keep your energy even,” came a voice.

Ben looked diagonally from where he was standing to see Rey appearing from the woods. She was dressed rather warmly with her grey hooded cloak secured around her body. She would have looked entirely comfortable if it hadn’t been for the manner in which her hair was tied out of her face. In the time he’d known Rey, Ben had come to observe something interesting about her. When Rey’s hair was free and loose, she was more often than not relaxed and completely at ease. If it was tied back out of her face but still relatively loose and hanging by her shoulders, she was still at ease but focused. Typically, this happened when they were training or going about between meetings. Even if her hair was tied up but there was attention paid to the style, Ben knew Rey was focused but not entirely under duress. But, if her hair was tied back tightly without much style, then Ben knew there was something on her mind. Today, that was the case. Rey’s hair seemed tightly tied up which took away from the youth of her face. She was serious in the manner that she always was concerning talks of galactic peace and the resumption of the New Order of Jedi.

Even knowing this, Ben decided to test just how uneasy Rey was feeling. Obviously not too much if she were making a prodding remark at his technique. He casually spun the saber between his fingers and disengaged it, drawing Rey’s attention. Ben continued to fiddle with it as he questioned, “But if I’m only fighting one opponent, there’s no need. That’s a final blow you just saw. Dead at my feet. I win.” He chose to make his tone rather smug and, obviously, joking.

“And that’s why you need someone to watch your back,” Rey countered. Ben was put at ease to hear the familiar jesting in her voice and the raised brow; a sort of “I keep telling you” look that he was all-too familiar with now. “In case there’s another one. Which there almost certainly will be.”

She folded her arms underneath the poncho and created a little bump because of it. The look on his face turned to one of a smile while Rey’s own smile did not reach her eyes; a fact Ben did not notice. He only noticed the lift of her cheeks as she returned Ben’s smile. Her head nodded at the saber and she said, “Try it again.”

“Are you going to be my second assailant?” Ben spun the saber handle once more as he walked counter to Rey. He took up a new position and watched her to see if she would take up a new stance as well.

That Rey did. She counter-balanced Ben and settled her arms by her sides. It didn’t appear that she had her lightsaber with her. That is, unless, she had it slipped or strapped by her actual hip or side underneath the cloak. Rey’s stance was rather casual as opposed to Ben’s stance; he was anticipatory. He was ready for what was coming.

“Turn around. Take that last position again,” Rey told him. “Like you just cut them down.”

Ben did so. He ignited the saber and landed the overhead blow. Then his instincts immediately told him to prepare for what was coming from behind. Much to his chagrin, Rey had been right. His energy was so focused from that overhead movement that it took a significant shift to turn around and block Rey’s advance. And advance Rey did. Her saber was ignited as well and Ben could practically feel it swinging toward him. It was as if he could feel it—sense it—cutting through the damp air toward him.

It took extra effort but Ben forced himself to roll forward and scramble to his feet as Rey’s saber cut into the air. Rey was smaller and quicker than him so Ben moved fast. He swung toward her torso but was quickly blocked. Between the light charged by their sabers, Ben saw the smug look on Rey’s face. Her nose scrunched with pride.

“Don’t you start,” Ben retorted, pushing against her saber. But Rey didn’t budge. She was stronger, Ben had to give her that. But not unbelievably strong.

He pushed his weight forward which forced her to back off. But Rey was right back with an offensive, uppercut attack. Ben blocked it albeit uncomfortably. The attack caught him in an awkward position. He gritted his teeth as he found himself on the defensive while Rey was pushing her energy up against him. Again there was Rey’s smug look and wrinkling of her nose. Her typical “told you” look for situations like this.

“What’re you going to do?” She questioned as she pushed her physical energy against him again.

In response, Ben swiped his leg against Rey’s ankles which knocked her off her feet. Her saber fell to the ground beside her and she used the Force to cushion her fall to the ground. Rey’s palms supported her arms up as she recovered and looked at Ben. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath and watched Ben level the saber toward her unthreateningly. His brows raised toward his hairline and he caught his breath as well whilst maintaining eye-contact. After a beat, Ben disengaged the saber and held out his other hand to Rey. “That answer your question?”

Rey took Ben’s hand and rose to her feet with his help. “But it was hard, wasn’t it?”

He shrugged and put the saber back in his holster. “Threw me for a second,” he finally admitted. Another smile was shared between them and Ben further asked, “What were you doing out here?”

“Getting air,” was her response. This time, Ben noticed the smile had not reached Rey’s eyes and there was a marked downturn in her delivery.

“Just that?” Ben questioned.

“Yes,” Rey responded. Her hands brushed the front of her cloak even though there was hardly anything on it but wrinkles and faded raindrops.

Ben wondered if Rey could sense his discomfort. Perhaps that was why she was reacting the way she was. It was better, he concluded, to bring up this discussion with her now. Better to do it now than never, after all. His head turned fractionally to the side as he recalled exactly how he wanted to tell her. Even if Rey already knew, she deserved a prepared explanation.

If Rey had wanted to get the jump on this explanation, she didn’t. To her credit, she let Ben speak first. “I’m staying.”

To Rey’s further credit, she remained silent and waiting for Ben to continue with his explanation if he so felt he needed to give one. That he did. But it was likely Rey’s patient and muted expression that started Ben’s explanation.

“It doesn’t feel right to go. It’s not what I want to do. I belong here. I belong right here,” Ben said.

_I belong here. I belong here._ Those words repeated like a mantra in his head. It rung firm and true. It bolstered his confidence and encouraged him to stand his ground for the first time in quite a long time. But though he felt pride from speaking his mind, Ben almost wished Rey wasn’t looking at him like that. For some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, her muted expression was filling him with unease. He truly looked into her eyes and noted a tinge of sadness.

“It’s not you. You know that. It’s not—” He struggled to find the words that best described the nuanced feelings he was experiencing. “I know you need me. I want to help. But it’s not—I don’t _feel_ like I can go.”

“Or that you want to,” Rey added rather quietly.

“—Yes.” Ben replied after a startled moment. So she did understand. He was thankful for that; utterly thankful indeed. This would be easier than he thought. "Thank you."

Rey looked marginally confused. "For what?"

"Understanding."

The next look on her face was something Ben didn't like at all. Armitage had always said how he didn't like pity or pitiful looks. Ben knew he certainly wouldn't like the one Rey was giving him now. It unsettled everything in him. "You understand," Ben said. It should have been a question but it was too cautious. The wind swished around them and was the only source of sound for the moment. He wished there was more sound; it would fill this agonizing gap of space. 

“You’re torn,” Rey said. “I know you are.” A pause. “He loves you. And that's why we have to go."

The act of being startled prevented Ben from responding right away and gave Rey the chance to continue her point. “Not because it's what I want. Because it's what _he_ wants."

It was amazing how emotions could change on the change of a dime. Ben went from being startled to angry in a split second. “You're lying." Then, "You’re not telling me what to do.” There was incredulity at the audacity of her words.

“I’m not,” Rey agreed with her voice still quiet and muted. The sadness in her eyes became more obvious. “But you’re going to leave.”

This had to be some sort of trick. Ben did an immediate self-assessment to see if a mind trick was being used. He cut through the internal anger and examined his state of being. Nothing. No tricks, no manipulation. It was simply Rey speaking to him and looking at him in a way that completely upended the joy and elation he had previously felt.

“—The hell I am,” spat Ben, feeling something akin to spite. He stepped back then turned, walking back to the estate house. He felt Rey coming after him but giving him enough space to walk. He half-expected her to run and catch up to him but that was likely wishful thinking. There was that cruel side of him that wanted her to run up to him just so he had the excuse to shut her down.

It wasn’t until he got to the door leading to the basement that Rey caught up to him and he felt her silent insistence to stop. He did so and turned his head over his shoulder to look at her. Still, Rey had that pitiful look on her face.

“Ben,” she began, but Ben didn’t give her the chance to finish. In fact, he held up a hand to her to stop her.

“I’m not leaving. I decided. _We_ decided.” Ben’s head shook fractionally and his hand dropped before he went inside. He continued speaking as he was walking through the hallway. “You honestly don’t give a damn, do you? Hux was right.”

“Right about what?” Rey asked, her voice rising so he could hear her. “Tell me what he was right about because he told me that you have to leave! We have to go back to Chandrila and regroup!"

“That you shouldn’t have come here,” snapped Ben in response. “That everything is ruined because you came here.”

“When did he tell you that?” As Ben climbed the stairs, he heard Rey’s voice echoing from the bottom. “Because he told me something completely different! I was all for letting you leave until Hux told me differently, Ben!" 

Ben sharply turned when he hit the top of the stairs and he responded, “Fuck! Get out!” His voice boomed.

He turned to face the Great Hall and was surprised to see the figure of Armitage standing there. He’d removed his jacket and was holding it over his arm whilst looking at Ben with the same expression Rey had on her own face. The exact same one.

What the hell was going on?

“We need to talk.”

* * *

They were in the library now. The fire was crackling steadily while the energy was anything but. Neither man was sitting but Ben was certainly pacing while Armitage was stood as if ready for a military parade. His arms were behind his back and his posture straight. His hair was pushed into place as if, right before he’d reentered the estate, he’d prepared himself. There it was; he’d _prepared himself_ for this.

Ben stopped pacing and looked at him, shaking his head in utter disbelief. “Are you going to say something?”

“I am,” the former general responded. “But you need to calm down so I am able to.”

“Cut it,” Ben snapped. The calmness of Armitage’s voice was cutting under his skin. It was so utterly measured. Then there was the look on his face. _Exactly like Rey’s_.

This couldn’t be happening; not so quickly. How was it possible to swing from the ultimate decision that Ben would stay and the love that came with it to this devastating shift? What had changed in a matter of hours? Had Armitage been lying the entire time?

He felt tension seizing control of his body. His muscles froze yet also vibrated. He could sense the table, which was only two feet from him, begin to shift and shake marginally as it caught his anger. Ben wasn’t quite seeing red but if he didn’t get an explanation soon then he quite certainly would.

“Were you lying, then? Trying to fuck with my feelings? If you were, that’s really low. Really fucking low,” Ben warned.

Armitage remained calm. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Then what? What changed?” Ben jumped to his third question. “Do you love me?” If he expected that to unsettle Armitage, he didn’t see a physical sign of it. So he asked again. “Do you love me?"

From where he was standing, Armitage felt the hold he had on this conversation easily slipping toward the emotional side. Maris had warned him about this. If he gave in too much to emotion, a situation would unfold where both of them could end up resenting one another.

“—You won’t understand it,” he began, recalling Maris’s words. “Not now, certainly. Not even immediately after you leave. Maybe you won’t even understand a year from now, though I hope you will. But you cannot stay here right now. You need to go with Rey. There’s more for you to do.”

“You need me here,” Ben retorted. It was as if he were prodding Armitage for the answer that would give him the justification to stay.

The former general sighed. “—Love blinds you,” he responded. “You’re blind to everything that could go wrong. You have to force yourself to wake up; to see what you’ll be taking away from the other person if you force them to stay. Even if they think it’s what they want.” His throat tightened and he steadied himself. “You need to go. You need to go with Rey and finish what you started. Can’t have you leaving loose ends out there.”

“There are other people who can tie them up,” came Ben’s insistent answer.

“No one else is like you. No one can tie up those loose ends like you. Some of those loose ends were left by you, most likely.” Because of course he couldn’t resist a jab like that.

The anger on Ben’s face seemed to melt into something else; a soft sort of confusion. Yes, utter confusion was plastered on Ben’s face. “Why are you saying this if you agreed I should stay?”

“Because it’s what’s best for you even if you don’t know it.” His lungs filled with air and Armitage breathed them out. He’d felt lightheaded and this new intake of oxygen helped him regain his footing.

The fire continued to crackle but it did not feel as ominous as it had before. No longer did he feel the waves of anger radiating off Ben. That had given way to utter vulnerability. Ben seemed wounded and lost in this moment and it dredged up the guilt Armitage had known he would feel. He’d prepared himself for this; at least, that is what he’d thought. No amount of preparation could prepare him for the reality of this moment.

He almost felt the desire to laugh. This is a reason why he’d been so closed-off, so unwilling to commit himself to these strong feelings of love. It caused him great discomfort before and now it was unbearable. He knew he had to say those words that Ben was wanting to hear but something was still holding him back. It was causing his stomach to churn and to ache but he was pushing through it with all of the fight and energy he could muster.

And then.

“I love you.”

It completely shattered his heart but it didn’t take him down. It shattered him but built him back up immediately. His chin lifted and he summoned his courage.

“And because I love you, I know I have to do this. I know I need to tell you to finish what you started. What you’re meant to finish. And when you’re done, then you can come back.”

_Then you can come back home._

Armitage’s arms eased and settled down at his side. He breathed through the desire to submit so easily to emotion as he and Ben had done the previous day. But as hard as this was, he needed to be the strong one. And it wasn’t out of false necessity or duty; it was out of love.

He almost wished Ben would respond. It was painful to have this silence between them and to see Ben processing this news. He didn’t have to read minds to understand that Ben didn’t want to do this. Armitage also didn’t have to read minds to know that there was a part of Ben that would resent him for this. He knew all of it. But it had to be done.

An eternity could have passed just as easily. The world could have exploded and been rebuilt from the ashes around them but neither man would have known. Armitage waited for Ben to make a move or a statement but there was nothing. The man seemed to retreat inside himself and then look out and back at his companion. Then there was a flash of weakness. Physical weakness, from what Armitage perceived. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and put a hand on Ben’s arm. To his surprise, Ben did not flinch away. He chose to look at Armitage and search his eyes to see if this was actually happening.

His hand slid up to Ben’s shoulder then to hold the back of his neck. His thumb swiped the underside of the younger man’s jaw and he gazed upon him. His eyes took in the sight of the trail of moles and marks that graced Ben’s skin. There was no reassuring smile to be shared for there was no way to reassure Ben in this moment; not when everything he’d staked his life on was crumbling to pieces before him.

“—Is this an order?” Asked Ben, his voice rough.

That caught Armitage by surprise. “No," he responded, "It's the request of the man who loves you."

Ben’s body stilted. His pupils seemed to dilate. “My father was always away,” he responded. “My mother, too. They sent me to my uncle’s. I didn’t see them. Now you’re sending me away. Tell me--.” He lifted his head. “—what am I supposed to make of that?”

Armitage directed Ben’s head so they were looking at one another plain and simple. There would be no hiding. There couldn’t be any longer. He could see the resentment building in Ben’s eyes right now and Armitage didn’t blame him at all. The pendulum had swung a way which had seemed to certain. Now it had swung the opposite way. “I’m not going to tell you anything. I’m not going to tell you how to feel even though I have an idea. But you’ve never been good at doing what I say, so why should I think differently now? You’re not going to understand. I don’t understand.”

“Then why?”

“Because you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t, Ben. You’ll think you failed and then what’ll the rest of your life be? What’ll you think of me if you don’t go out there and finish what they all started, like you keep saying?”

“—You need me,” Ben said.

The simple truth of the words dampened Armitage’s eyes. “I do,” he responded. “But I need you to do this more than I need you here with me.”

Ben’s lips parted in shock. Trails of tears were rolling down both of their faces. Armitage had to keep himself collected to finish this interaction. Both of them needed it.

“The day after tomorrow,” he said, “you and Rey will go. You’ll do what you need to do. Then, the minute you’re done, your mission is to come back.” Armitage’s chest clenched. “To come home.”

The skin underneath Ben’s eyes reddened and he was shaking as he always did when he was holding in his emotion. He seemed utterly distant and detached so Armitage tightened his grip. “Do you understand?” He repeated the question and Ben looked at him again.

Armitage couldn’t distinguish the expression being shown to him. Disbelief was a word which rung true. There was nothing he could do to make Ben understand. He had to do that himself. It was his own unwilling, unwanted mission.

Ben stepped back from him but maintained eye contact. Then, slowly and surely, he left the room and left Armitage before the fire. Silence fell over the entire estate like a blanket.

As Ben left the room, he saw Rey standing in the middle of the Great Hall. He paused and looked at her from across the room. Her eyes, too, were reddened and the sympathy was evident. The two sides of Ben crashed in conflict but neither was victorious. But one thought rung out.

_I hope you’re happy._

Ben didn’t know if Rey heard it or even if Armitage heard it. But he didn’t care.

He walked around her toward the stairs and climbed them toward his room. He had to collect his things, after all, and prepare himself for another goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and your support. I truly appreciate it and hope you all are well.
> 
> tumblr: sehn----sucht.com


	26. Chapter 26

By some unknown miracle, he’d managed to sleep through the night. It wasn’t without difficulty, however. It wasn’t without hours of consciously coming in and out of the depths of his sleep cycle and becoming aware of such occurrences. It wasn’t without the hour that came before he slipped into darkness during which he wondered if he was walking down the right path. Were Maris’ words the truth? Would Armitage come to feel settled in his decision in two days’ time or even two years’ time?

He wondered what Ben was thinking now. Did he hate him? Did any part of him even understand what was happening or was this bond between them entirely eroded? There was no use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. Making peace with this decision would be an entirely different road to travel down and, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be immediate. The look on Ben’s face—one of disbelief and even betrayal—would be imprinted into Armitage’s mind for, perhaps, the rest of his life. If it unsettled him now, there was no telling how it would affect him for the days and years to come.

When his body had come to the conclusion that it was well-rested, his eyes opened to a surprising sight; the streaming of sunlight through his window over his bedding. The bedding slipped from his clothed body as he sat up to confront this surprise. His eyes, still bleary from the hours being shut, eventually cleared and adjusted to the brightness which pooled out over his comforter and to the sheets. It had been quite some time since the sun had made a genuine appearance. _Of course it would appear today_ , thought Armitage as he came to terms.

He shifted out of bed and listened to the muted cracking of his joints. His brows knit together in dislike as he went to the window and squinted at the shining sunlight. Armitage often forgot how much the rain nurtured and enriched the nature which surrounded his home. The trees were a deep, healthy green and seemed to stand out more vibrantly than he ever recalled. The reflected light also gracefully bounced off wet spots on the ground, such as puddles and even fresh rain which had most likely finished falling quite early in the morning. It gave a sheen to the land which Armitage hadn’t seen in quite some time; not for months, in fact. But, instead of piquing his interest or brightening his mood, it only served to somber it.

Armitage’s mind was swimming; so much so that he barely was aware of when he bathed and dressed himself for the day. He only became aware as he fixed his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He caught the disbelief in his own eyes as he recognized his clothed body and freshly done hair. There was darkness imprinted under his eyes, but Armitage couldn’t entirely place the blame on current events for this. His body felt weary but he summoned up his energy to walk out of the bathroom and out of his room entirely. The sound of the domestic droids could be heard from a few doors down, nearer to Ben’s room. Hux’s stomach churned momentarily then went down the stairs into the Great Hall, where he spotted Rey headed toward the front door.

Rey’s hair was down yet the top of it was pulled back so it did not hang in her face. Similarly, she too looked tired. Armitage noticed it more clearly when she turned to acknowledge his presence. There was a marked look of surprise as she saw him and her lips formed as if she were to say “Oh”, but there was no voice given to it.

“It’s sunny,” she remarked, her inflection rather flat as if she were saying it was just another rainy day.

Armitage nodded as he crossed to her. “It happens.”

Rey nodded along with him and looked to the door before returning her gaze to the former general’s. “I spoke to him last night.”

The tension in Rey’s voice was noted. Not toward him but, likely, toward the situation they found themselves in. That’s what Armitage would have liked to think, at least. The idea that he would be blamed for some unforeseen occurrence, whether it occurred now or later, was had the potential to be overwhelming.

“Did he say anything?” Questioned Armitage.

“It doesn’t matter,” came a new voice.

Both Rey and Armitage turned to see Ben entering from the hall closest to the library. He completed the trio of exhausted faces, though there was more than exhaustion to Ben’s face. His shoulders seemed heavy and his face was drawn. Armitage would have sworn that the heavy, forlorn, and almost pensive expression caused Ben to resemble his mother even more. The features of Leia Organa were more pronounced by the downward angled head and eyes that stared up and around the dark, curtain-like hair. Those eyes which were shaped like Han Solo’s but took on a graver, more grounded look like the eyes of a royal-turned general. Armitage found his posture immediately stiffening and his arms found themselves going behind his back as Ben came to them. Rey, too, seemed to stiffen but it wasn’t as noticeable. In fact, she seemed to angle toward Ben whereas Armitage seemed to stand up as straight as he could.

Ben looked at Armitage briefly then Rey before he continued, “The decision’s been made. Tomorrow we’re leaving.” He returned his attention to Armitage. Surprisingly, his voice wasn’t as downcast as his expression might suggest. It was unsteady, yes, but it held no unstable emotion behind it. It was simple and matter-of-fact, as if he had decided to accept this turn of events. But if Armitage knew Ben, he knew the other hadn’t come to peace with it no matter what he said.

Before Armitage could respond, Ben looked toward the door closest to Rey. “It’s sunny,” he commented.”

“We were just talking about that,” Rey said.

Ben’s attention went back to Rey. “It’s nice when the sun’s out,” he added. His eyes grew somber, which caused Armitage’s stomach to churn once again.

His throat cleared as he said, “You might actually get to see the grounds without the threat of a storm. There’s a lovely lake at the clearing of the woods. Have you been there?” The question was wooden and awkward. Armitage clearly felt Ben’s reluctance to look at him.

Rey clearly noticed and said, “I haven’t seen it in the sunlight. I should go see it for myself.”

“Ben can take you. He’s been there plenty of times.”

“I don’t need an escort. I was going to meditate anyway.” Rey stepped from the company of the two men and seriously recommended, “You two need to talk without me here.” She held Ben’s look and added, “You _need_ to talk. Alone.” With that, she walked out the door and let it swing shut behind her.

Ben and Armitage stood before one another in utter, painful silence. The pain was only emphasized by the recognition of it in the younger man’s eyes. Armitage collected himself. “She’s right.”

“Apparently, she’s been right from the beginning,” Ben said hollowly, bitterly. “Never expected you to agree with her. Then again, you _were_ a traitor so what should I have expected?”

The urge to roll his eyes was great and it was for the best that Armitage resisted it. “Don’t be petulant.”

“Don’t call me petulant if you actually want to have a conversation with me,” snapped Ben. There was that grave look on his face that reminded Armitage of Leia Organa. He let Ben go on. “I don’t understand you, Hux, I really don’t. I never have.”

Armitage’s lips pressed together in a line. His tongue swiped along the slit of his dried lips. “Perhaps it’s best to speak in the library.”

“No.” Ben looked toward the door where Rey had gone then the stairs leading down to the basement. “Outside. By the lake.”

Faltering, Armitage felt his mind go blank at Ben’s suggestion. “ _The_ lake?”

“ _The_ lake,” echoed Ben. Taking charge, he took long strides toward the stairs and descended them before Armitage even reached the top of them. The elder man braced himself with every step downward.

His eyes narrowed as he walked outside and was greeted by the light. How often he forgot the power of the sun. It was warm but not hot, for which Armitage was thankful. It was warm enough to cause him to roll up his shirt sleeves and unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt. Ben was six paces ahead but Armitage did not run to catch up. Thankful they were only three inches apart in height, it took Armitage little time to step in stride with Ben as they went down the path toward the woods. Neither of them spoke though Armitage fully expected Ben to start. It took him by surprise that the other man did not speak and that their walk was to be a silent one. Armitage almost wished he’d insisted they stay inside but he understood how trapped Ben might feel after yesterday’s decision.

One hand slipped into his pocket as they made their way toward the serpentine lake. Armitage’s attention was caught by the reflection of the light off the surface of the water and he stopped to stare. He heard Ben carry on for four paces before he stopped. Armitage only looked at him when he saw Ben coming back out of his periphery. Ben stood a couple of feet from Armitage as he, too, stared at the lake. There were no words exchanged between them. Armitage only observed Ben as he looked over the lake and how the sun shined upon it, he presumed. Normally he could tell the emotions which crossed Ben’s face and, in turn, he would be able to presume what he was thinking. This time, Armitage didn’t have the faintest idea. He could only guess at what thoughts were going through Ben’s head.

It was Ben who started walking away first and it was Armitage who followed him into the wooded area. The ground was still soft underneath their feet but there was no fear of flooding or overly saturating their shoes. Not that it would anyway; their shoes were the proper type which kept dry in rainy conditions. The ground simply breathed against the imprinting of his and Ben’s shoes as they walked. Armitage could hear the sounds of nature coming back to life in the way it always did when the sun chose to reveal itself. The forest wasn’t as dank as it normally was, either. The rays of sunlight which streamed through the canopies of trees gave warmth and a life to the forest that was sorely needed.

When they reached the clearing by the lake, Armitage felt himself grow hesitant by Ben’s side. It was Ben who took charge and walked to the fallen tree and sat on it facing the lake. It was quiet but Armitage could hear the water moving naturally against the lakebed. He could still hear the birds singing their songs from the treetops and the slight breeze which rustled the leaves and branches.

His hesitation didn’t last too long but still lingered with him with each step that took him over to the trunk to sit by Ben’s side. He reminisced rather forlornly about the last time they’d had a day like this and sat side-by-side in this manner. It hadn’t been _too_ long ago, in reality, but Armitage felt himself desiring a return to that time and to the emotions he had felt. Those emotions had been markedly better than what he felt now. He half-expected the silence between them to last longer than it did, as well as for the energy radiating off Ben to continue its negative downturn. But Ben had always surprised him and, he supposed, now wasn’t any different.

“I want to hate you,” were the first words Ben spoke to him. His dark eyes remained forward across the expanse of the water. “I really, _really_ want to hate you.”

It was petulant and childish words, according to Armitage’s perspective. But he’d expected this and he found a deeper understanding. His labeling of the words as immature did not last long as he recalled Maris’s words and the conversation they had shared. He filled his lungs with the fresh, warmer air and asked, “Do you?”

A marked pause. “I think so.”

“But not as much as you think you should.” Armitage’s hands settled on the trunk. He felt the damp, rotting and crumbling wood beneath his fingers and felt a momentary disgust at the texture and brittleness. How easily it crumbled and disintegrated into nothingness between his fidgeting fingers. His fingers pressed further into the rotting bark and brittle wooden innards. His mind briefly touched upon the fact there might be insects making their homes or meals inside the decaying wood but that was not of importance to him any longer. Let them have this decaying husk. In fact, Armitage pressed his fingers against the wood a bit more as if to make little holes for the homes or smaller pieces of nourishment for these pathetic creatures to devour. His mind wondered how long it would take this painful remnant of this moment—and all the moments from before—to disappear and become only a fleeting memory. He wondered if he would, in a year or more’s time, even recall what he was thinking and feeling now in such stark detail. A part of him hoped, and even prayed, he wouldn’t recall the painful detail.

Ben’s head seemed as if it would turn Armitage’s way but it stalled instead. It barely moved a fraction of an inch and resisted giving him physical attention or acknowledgement. “—I haven’t decided.”

It shouldn’t have been so amusing but Armitage felt the urge to laugh. Instead, a closed-mouthed smiled stretched across his face. He turned his attention to the expanse of water as if to hide this smile from his seated companion. “That sounds like you.”

“Does it?” Asked Ben rather dismissively. Armitage chose to ignore that and take it in stride.

He briefly wondered where Rey was and was then glad he didn’t know. It was best she had given him and Ben space to speak plainly and openly without another voice.

“Like I said, I don’t expect you to understand now,” Armitage said, breaking the silence. “I don’t expect you to understand tomorrow, either. You’re stubborn. Don’t say you aren’t, it’s a fact. We both are. And in my stubbornness, I tried to keep you here when the best thing is for you to complete your tasks.”

Ben made a sound deep in his throat at the word choice. Armitage snipped, “Whatever it is duty requires you to do. Make peace with your family, with yourself, the galaxy, whatever it is. Because I know you and you would hold this resentment to the end of your life if I allowed you to. And I will not allow it.”

Out of his periphery, he saw Ben’s head turn toward his. Even still, Armitage did not look at him. He felt more apt and able to speak openly without looking at Ben. This was easier than directly confronting him. This realization dawned upon him and Armitage used it to make the hard choice to look Ben square in the face. Just as he thought, his chest tightened at the eye-contact. Even Ben’s features flashed something close to vulnerability as they looked at one another.

“It would be easy to keep you here and to deny you that chance. A year ago, I would have gladly done it. But knowing you---truly—prevents me from locking you up and denying you what you need; even if you deny it to yourself. You’re a slave to emotion, Ben, you always have been. But when this feeling goes away—and they always do—you’ll grow to hate me. I know what hatred does to you and I’ve seen what the absence of hatred does. It’s made you a new person. A, frankly, more tolerable person. I prefer tolerating you to hating you. In fact, I prefer loving you to hating you.”

It was as if the vacuum of space had sucked all of the air out of his lungs. Armitage fought through it and carried on. “Even if it pains the both of us, we both know this is right. We’re not children, we’re adults. I can handle this and I know you can. Because you are stronger than anyone, including myself, might say.”

Ben’s expression, as he listened, was the same as ever except for a couple crucial details. His eyes were moistened and the area under his eyes were reddening, as were the very tip of his nose; all tell-tale signs of the emotion welling up in the younger man. Armitage was doing his very best to resist his own emotions but it would be false to say he was hiding it well. The redness was appearing in the same places on his face and his voice was clouded with feeling. What almost broke the elder man’s resolve was when Ben’s body faced his own and his hand moved fractionally toward his, but stopped as if he couldn’t bear to touch him.

“You’re right,” Ben said.

“Finally,” Armitage responded, “you acknowledge it.”

The tension was, thankfully broken, and both men gave muted laughs. Then their arms were around one another. It was not an emotional embrace as it had been previously. It was silent and reserved but still true to the feelings of both men.

Ben’s voice rumbled, “I don’t hate you.”

That eased the tension in Armitage’s body. “It’s fine if you do. I’m used to it.”

He felt the squeeze of Ben’s arms and leaned into it. He pulled his head back to look at him and awaited what Ben would say, if he felt the need to.

“What will you do?”

Of course Ben was worried about him, Armitage thought to himself, but he wouldn’t let the other carry that burden. He’d dilute the guilt as much as he could. He’d carry the burden for him.

“Try not to destroy X-3,” offered the former general. He watched Ben’s shift to muted amusement and continued, “Deforest the grounds, perhaps.” Then, seriously, “I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Both men directed their gazes towards the water. “Before you ask, I’m not in the mood for a swim,” Armitage informed.

“Wasn’t asking. Just…don’t want to forget.” Ben scanned the shore then the water. There was a forlornness to his gaze and Armitage even felt it. Slowly, without much thought or judgement, he extended his hand to take Ben’s and twined their fingers together. Ben generously permitted it.

They spent time there sitting on the rotting trunk staring over expanse of water. Inevitably, both men stood and began to walk through the woods again with their hands still joined. Armitage’s free hand went into his trouser pocket and he kept his stride in time with Ben’s. Comments were made about the woods and he even remarked about brief, unspecific memories of these woods. Ben’s head nodded and he asked short, simple questions. Small talk, yes, but also personal talk.

They found themselves by the serpentine lake once more, but this time they walked around the perimeter and looked closer to the lake. Ben even released Armitage’s hand so he could get a better look. With a turn of his hand and crook of his wrist, he even brought some of the creatures residing in the water to the surface.

“Can’t let things alone, can you?” Armitage asked, walking by his side to look at the fretting fish. In response, Ben used his abilities to push a fish toward Armitage’s feet.

The former general flinched away to Ben’s clear amusement. The man began to chuckle whilst being scolded by Armitage, earning a shove to the arm and stepping backward to steady his balance. Armitage’s head shook in ridicule as he stepped ahead of Ben, muttering under his breath. Ben did catch up in two strides and even put his hand to Armitage’s back. Armitage looked at Ben and let go of the irked façade. His shoulder moved against Ben’s and he received an equal, intimate response. Slowly, his own hand went to the middle of Ben’s back and they walked together in tandem, surveying the grounds in comfortable silence.

* * *

Much of the early afternoon was spent like this and when they had rounded the estate twice, both men went inside through the front door.

Their midday meal was eaten in peace and Rey even came into the ballroom. Her hesitation was noted but once she saw there was no tension nor anger to be had, she settled in a chair beside Ben and slowly ate her meal. Comfortable, decided silence was shared by the three of them and was only interrupted when Armitage asked if Rey knew how to play Dejarik.

“Poe’s taught me,” she responded, cleaning her hands on her napkin and folding it in her lap. She still seemed tired and a bit nervous, but certainly more settled than she had been the past few days. Seeing Ben was more at-ease settled her in body and spirit.

“Are you good at it?” Questioned Armitage. It felt strange to be addressing the scavenger in familiar, casual terms.

“I think so.”

“We’ll have to see. Come on.” Armitage rose and noticed X-3 entering the room. “Clear these. Come along.” He headed the trio, leading the way to the library where the Dejarik board was located.

Rey, as it turned out, was quite skilled at Dejarik. Armitage thought of taking it easy on her the first round but she played better than he thought. After about two or three rounds, he switched out with Ben and elected to keep the fire in the room going as well as read. It turned out that Rey and Ben were matched in competition and were both quite passionate when it came to the game. So passionate, in fact, that there were arguments over who had won and who had done better. It was markedly different yet strangely similar to how Ben and Armitage played. Armitage did find himself telling the two to calm down and even poking at Ben to get him frustrated.

This peace which settled the three of them was a welcomed peace.

As night fell, the trio split apart to do their own things. As Ben came up from the kitchens, a mug of tea in hand for Armitage, he noticed Rey carrying her small bag of belongings and wearing her cloak. He frowned and felt a twinge of worry. “It’s not time, is it?”

Rey turned her head back to look at him and shook her head. “I have to check on the ship. Make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

Ben’s shoulders notably dropped upon remembrance. “Right. Give me a minute and I’ll come with you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of my ship.” Rey’s eyes looked toward the library then at Ben. “I’ll come by midday.”

Ben’s brows furrowed and his mind ran through the gambit of what tomorrow would bring. Instant regret began to course through him as well as conflicting thoughts and ideas. His mind began swimming in them and he might have drowned if it were not for Rey’s gentle mental prod. It was not a harsh, penetrating prod but more of a warm, encouraging reminder; just enough to bring his head up from under the waves.

His head, too, lifted and Rey was standing before him. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised. Ben felt as if he were being caressed but it was all in mental feeling rather than physical. Rey’s comfort and reassurance was all shared through their connection, their dyad. It was different than Armitage’s encouragement. In many ways, it was warmer and more familial. It was a different role and relation entirely and Ben recalled how glad he was for it when Rey stepped away from him and walked out the door.

Armitage’s attention was in his book as Ben came in. He lifted his head when Ben set the tea down on the table and settled down beside him. “Where’s Rey?” He asked, lowering the book from his face. Armitage was reclining on the couch rather than sitting upright with one leg tucked underneath himself. His eyes were bleary from the haze of reading and he looked at Ben questioningly as the man settled close beside him.

“She’s going to the ship,” responded Ben. “She said she’ll come tomorrow around midday.”

“Midday,” echoed Armitage. The book settled against his chest as he watched Ben angle his body toward him.

Ben nodded, his eyes downcast as they both digested this information. He, too, tucked his feet under himself almost in a crouching position. This time limit hung over his head and it was as if Ben could hear it counting down.

_I don’t expect you to understand right away. I don’t expect you to understand tomorrow._

**_You’re right, Armitage, I don’t understand._ **

In this moment, Ben was thankful Armitage could not hear his thoughts nor peer into them at will. Though he knew the former general was perceptive enough to know Ben was displeased, despite the effort he was giving to be agreeable and amenable to this decision.

He took the book from Armitage’s chest and set it pages-down on the table. Armitage shifted his body in response to Ben moving closer and brought his arms to his back, gently encouraging him to lay against his chest. Ben’s head nestled underneath Armitage’s chin and he stared toward the fire as he laid down, watching and memorizing the flickering flames. He attuned himself to Armitage’s hand cradling the back of his head, his fingers nestling into his hair and the other hand on his back. Ben’s own hand held onto Armitage’s arm and he breathed in the scent emanating off the other; tobacco and the scent of his soap. It was a sweetness and refinedness which only Armitage could smell of. It filled Ben’s nose and his lungs as he breathed Hux in and closed his eyes, intent on remembering this for the rest of his life if need be. He could only fathom the next time he would be able to be with him again.

The tea had gone entirely cold by the time Ben felt Armitage shift beneath him. He’d apparently dozed off and felt rather drowsy when he picked up his head to see what was going on. “Let’s go to bed,” Armitage said, his voice muted and simple.

Ben would not have even resisted the idea. The tea and book were both forgotten as the men left the library for the stairs up to Armitage’s room. It felt as if ages had passed since Ben had been in this room and he was a step behind Armitage’s every movement. The elder man began removing his clothes until his body was bare and he moved under the sheets and blankets which made up his bed. Ben, in turn, stripped himself bare and moved into bed beside him, all without turning the lights on to see.

They found one another’s arms through the dark and held onto each other. Flesh pressed against flesh as they laid together between the sheets and blankets, finding one another’s warmth and company. Ben felt his forehead against Armitage’s and, soon, found his mouth against the other man’s. Simple kisses which held so much more depth and meaning than was suggested by the physical act itself. Ben almost wished that Armitage’s lips and hands burned him when they made contact, for then he would forever have a reminder that he’d been touched and kissed—that he had been loved so deeply and intimately.

Each man held the other and they were afraid to fall asleep, for fear of the time lost. The moon was high in the sky as they found themselves slipping further into that dark embrace of sleep. Yet there was nothing darker and more comforting than the knowledge that they were together.

Regrets could be left for tomorrow; tonight was all they had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


	27. Chapter 27

It would have been too bittersweet for the morning to be as sunny as it had been yesterday. It was as grey and dour as Armitage felt when he opened his eyes and realized it was no longer night. It felt as if it were the day of judgement. Indeed, in a way, it was; a judgement of his decisions.

Ben’s nude body was warm against his own and Armitage dreaded parting from it. Thankfully, Ben was asleep against him and had not wakened first. Armitage didn’t know if he would have been able to handle waking to Ben looking at him with, expectedly, a broken expression. Armitage would have to be the strong one. He supposed he always knew he would have to. It was a role he didn’t mind taking on anymore. He felt stronger and more capable than he might have months ago. He could handle the burden for the two of them. He’d had a lifetime of practice.

Ben had begun to stir and Armitage leaned down to press his mouth to the man’s head. Ben frowned in his sleep and made a humming noise from deep within his throat. It was the sort of noise one made when they were half-awake or leaning back into the warm embrace of sleep, unwilling to rise and start the day and all the tasks which faced them. On this day, that was especially true.

Armitage tried not to dwell on that and, instead, ensured he would remember this sight for the rest of his life. _Do not forget this moment. Do not forget a bit of it._ That thought brought him back to weeks and months ago when he had issued a similar challenge to himself, albeit in extremely different circumstances. And yet Armitage challenged himself to accomplish this task; to memorize every line and movement of Ben’s face as he fought to stay asleep. To memorize the texture of Ben’s hair as well as the folds of his skin and how it all shifted as he leaned favorably to one side of the bed. How young and peaceful he looked in this moment despite the weight he still carried with him. Armitage wondered if this weight would be carried for the rest of Ben’s life or if, one day, he would give up this heavy burden at last.

He wanted to lay back down beside him, to take in the sight of Ben from that specific angle. But he was up now and his brain told him to go about his routine. Nothing about this day would be routine and he dreaded facing it. Yet, life went on and there was no reason to not clean his body and dress in warm clothes. Perhaps Ben would be awake by then.

That thought encouraged him to slide out of the bed without waking the sleeping man still within it. Armitage felt the chill of the morning on his bare body as he went to his bath and drew the water, watching it all pool up until he found a suitable amount of water. His fingers tested the warmth and, once he approved, he submerged his body and shut his eyes. His head leaned against the rim of the bath and let the warmth permeate his body. Armitage had been feeling aches and pains for a little bit now but he was forced to focus on them now; how his fingers had a slight ache to them as he bent them or how there was a pain in his back and shoulders from repeated movements and strain of cutting wood for fires and hunching to pick something heavy up. He was growing older. He wasn’t old as his father had been and was still relatively young in the grand scheme of things, but time was passing. Time had passed so slowly and yet so quickly. His thoughts directed back to the man sleeping in his bed. Time had certainly passed so quickly.

It had been wasted, too. If he’d known then what he’d known now, Armitage thought he would have acted more warmly to Ben sooner. That, though, was a wistful and wishful thought. How could he have known he and Ben would have come together in this way? The man Armitage had been a year ago would never have allowed for this. Hell, he might have even killed Ben when the man had walked onto his property that fateful day with the very axe he’d held in his hands. At least then neither of them would have been able to know and experience this present pain and feel the sands of time running out.

Though his eyes were closed, Armitage was aware of his head turning and the manner in which his cheek pressed further against the smooth edge of the tub. It would surely leave an indent in his skin. His hands began to move over his body absently as if to give himself something to do while his mind regretfully wandered. He wouldn’t permit Ben to hear these regrets nor would he show them on his face. He resolved once more that he would be the strong one today. He would take up the mantel he’d held for so much of his life once more and would only let it slip when he was certain Ben was gone.

The time to take up this illusion came sooner than he thought as he picked up the sound of movement from the room. Green eyes opened and fixed on the direction. Armitage’s hands ceased their movement across his body and rested on his sternum. His diaphragm expanded then released evenly as he listened to the shifting of sheets and the low breaths and sounds of a stirring Ben. Armitage’s body slipped a bit lower and his cheek left its perch on the tub. The back of his neck moved toward the water then the back of his head was cradled by it. His line of sight was directed at the ceiling. Underneath his hands, his diaphragm expanded slowly then released in a second cycle. A third one followed. It had the intended calming, mind-clearing effect.

His ears were permeated by water and that gave a new sort of peace. The shifting and movement from the bedroom was muffled by the stillness of the bath water. Armitage lost himself in the muted peace until he heard a lower sound which was coming from above. His eyes moved to see the shape of Ben standing just outside of his peripheral vision. Slowly, Armitage lifted his head and went back to his sitting position. He cleared the water from his ears and fixed his hair back. “Morning.”

Ben nodded. He still didn’t seem entirely awake. There was a dazed look to him and his eyes were puffy as well as clouded. He’d most certainly just lifted his head from the pillow and rolled out of bed. His hair was still disheveled in a manner which made Armitage want to tame it. He’d so often thought of forcing Ben to cut his hair but now he only wanted to move his fingers through it to calm the untamed nature of it.

His wet hands moved over his face to wake himself up more. “I’m just about done. Give me a minute, will you?”

Another nod from Ben. The man then turned to look at himself in the mirror and rubbed his face, sighing and muttering something in his deep, groggy morning voice. Armitage returned to the task of cleaning himself then rose from his bath and drained the water. He wrapped a towel around his body and stood just behind Ben, looking at their reflections in the mirror. “You know,” he informed, “you can go back and sleep some more. It’s still early.”

“No,” Ben responded. “I don’t want to waste time.”

Disregarding his wet hands, Armitage touched his companion’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. He watched as Ben’s expression became forlorn and a bittersweet smile attempted to cross his lips. If anything, it only accentuated the sadness on the younger man’s face.

“Go on, get ready. You need a shave, anyway. I’ll get it ready.” Armitage patted Ben’s shoulders and stepped around him to the bedroom. Another deep breath in and then out. The exhale was accompanied by Maris’s reassuring words. Everything would be alright. It had to be.

He dressed himself as if suiting up for a battle. His clothes held a different weight today as opposed to other days. Then he noticed the parcel from days before when he’d gone to town. The shirts, sweater, inkwell, and ink he’d purchased for Ben was still there untouched. Something heavy fell into his stomach. Perhaps it was his heart.

Armitage’s fingers deftly took the clothing from their wrappings and laid them on the bed one by one. How differently he’d felt when he’d previously touched these items. His eyes scanned each one but landed on the blue sweater he’d thought Ben would look so dashing in. His throat grew slick and tight. Attention then went to the inkwell and ink. Well, it wouldn’t be much use surprising Ben with them now. Armitage had the thought to return them. Wherever Ben was going or whatever he was doing, he certainly wouldn’t have time for such frivolous habits.

He had to mentally direct himself to make the bed and set up a spot to shave Ben. He did not move the clothing nor the calligraphy items as he made the bed, merely leaving them carefully laid out yet surrounded by wrinkles on the bedding. He wasn’t aware of leaving to find a chair and bringing it back into the room until the act was completed and he was going to the bathroom once more to retrieve his shaving tools. Ben was still in the bath with his eyes closed and a meditative expression across his face. Armitage knew it was best not to disturb him. He partly closed the door behind him as he left and set up the final pieces. He rolled up his sleeves and exhaled slowly as he looked over the sight then out the window. A dreary day, indeed, but no rain thus far. It would be fine for one final walk around the grounds. They certainly had time enough for that.

Ben emerged from the bathroom minutes later with the towel around his waist. His pale skin seemed soft and there was a tentative peace to the other man. His skin glistened with water droplets which had not been dried away and his hair, too, was adorned with them. The bottom edges of his hair were clearly wet and darker than the rest of his hair. His cheeks and nose were reddened while the rest of him was either pale or a light pink from the warmth of the bath. Ben walked over to the chair and sat down with a sigh, rubbing his face and chin as he settled. Armitage readied the lather and the razor. He spread the white lather over Ben’s face and cleared his throat before positioning Ben’s head back at and angle which was suitable for this type of shade. He noticed immediately that Ben’s eyes were not closed; rather, they were open and aimed toward Armitage’s face or hand as it moved meticulously over his face.

“You can relax,” Armitage informed Ben. Ben hummed in response but said nothing else. Under his hands, Armitage felt Ben to be entirely relaxed. There was no tension to him at all. There was not even stiffness to his neck or his head as he followed Armitage’s every move. If anything, there was the care and attention with which Ben directed toward him. Putting that suggestion and thought aside, the former general continued with his movements. When needed, he stepped around Ben to his front to better shave the man’s chin.

When he paused to clean Ben’s face, he heard the low commented, “No nicks this time.”

“Of course not,” he responded, “I’m no amateur.”

Ben crossed his arms over his chest and leaned further back against the chair. “I don’t think you’ve ever nicked me.”

“Again, I’m no amateur.” Armitage presented a knowing, almost joking expression to Ben and lightly tipped his head to the side using two fingers against the Force user’s jaw. “Stay like that or you _will_ get nicked.”

Ben hummed again and obeyed. He stared off at the opposite wall as Armitage carefully shaved along his jaw. Within minutes, Armitage was completely finished. He cleaned Ben’s face free of any remaining lather spots and stood. “Go wash off.”

He cleaned his own hands then the razor as Ben rose and rubbed his face. “Feels good. Thank you.”

Armitage gestured toward the bathroom with his head. “Go wash off then tell me what a good job I know I did.”

That earned him quite the eyeroll from his companion before he went to the bathroom to do just what he’d been told. Armitage gathered his things and returned them to the bathroom, moving around Ben to complete his task. Ben was patting his face dry and examining his clean-shaven face in the mirror. “Well?” Armitage questioned.

“Do I even have to tell you?”

“You do because I’m telling you to.”

“Fine,” Ben acquiesced, “you did a good job. Thank you.”

Smugly, Armitage smirked at their reflections then turned his head to look at Ben with a nod. Ben returned with a gentler, honest smile filled with gratitude. The smugness which had been plastered across Armitage’s face melted to match the honesty of Ben’s. He nodded again with less bravado than before. “Go on,” he instructed, “get dressed.”

He led while Ben followed and tried to make himself busy by fixing some invisible matter on his shoes. Ben dressed himself and was going to speak to Armitage before he caught sight of the items on the bed. “What’s that?”

Armitage’s head picked up and he followed the line of sight to the bed. “—I didn’t get a chance to give you those. I bought them. The other day in town.”

Ben seemed genuinely surprised. He touched the nicer shirts before landing on the dark blue sweater. His fingers stroked the material once then twice then another time before he picked it up in his hands.

“It’s not something I would ever wear,” Armitage cut-in. His arms were taut against his chest as if he were holding himself back. “But you seem to enjoy those.”

Ben made a sound. “You’d wear them. You _do_ when it’s too cold.”

“I hardly do,” argued Armitage. He lifted a finger to stop Ben from replying. “That was only twice when we had that terrible storm for two days.”

“And you were grateful I lent you that black one,” pointed out Ben. He smirked and pulled the sweater over his body, adjusting it so it fit the way he liked. His broad hands moved over his arms then how it fit over his abdomen. “Fits good.”

“Well,” corrected Armitage, earning a pointed glare from Ben. The former general went to his side and touched the shirts. “You do look better in these so I purchased a couple.”

“What’s this?” Ben asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He touched the inkwell and the packet of ink. “—How much did this cost?”

“It doesn’t matter. You broke your other one and you needed a new one.” This tightened the knots in Armitage’s throat and stomach. “And more ink. Though I don’t know what you’ll be doing so I can return this with no issu— “

“I’ll bring it. Thank you, Armitage.”

Armitage knew that Ben was genuinely touched but he didn’t know how much until he focused in on the emotion Ben was holding back. Obviously there was more to it than simply being given a gift. He placed his hand on Ben’s back and his fingers rubbed along his shoulder blade and spine. He felt Ben’s body lean toward him but not entirely on him.

“We should eat something,” Armitage finally remarked.

Ben’s response was a silent nod. “I’ll be down in a bit. I’ll just…get things together. Be down soon.”

_You must be the strong one. You must carry this burden and guide Ben through._

Those were his own words. Not Maris’s nor his father’s. They were Armitage’s own words and own mantra. Armitage left Ben to finish what he was doing and went downstairs to ready their breakfast. He dismissed any thoughts of time or how long it would be until Rey came to retrieve Ben. Focusing on the future would only cause them both more pain.

* * *

Armitage did not feel the routine stab of hunger though he knew he needed a full stomach regardless. He prepared them both a very simple breakfast of bread, some fruit marmalade spread, caf, and tea as well as two pieces of fruit. It only took one trip up the stairs to the ballroom as he knew Ben would have the caf and he would enjoy his own tea. He felt as if there were a stone weighing down his stomach. Even still, he had to push through this façade of satiety and eat something. He’d set the table as Ben walked in and waited for him to join before sitting down. They ate their meal in relative silence as was usual for them. As they ate, Armitage wondered if Ben was taking in the silence much as he was; if he was focusing in on this particular moment in time above all others. They’d dined together for days and weeks and months but this was to be the last time.

_For now. The last time for now._

Yes, of course. It was the last time for now. There could be opportunities in the future for them to sit at this very table again in this exact same situation, albeit with different circumstances surrounding it.

A darker voice whispered in Armitage’s ear but he pushed it to the side as he tore off a small piece of the bread and ate it. He felt his body and mind wanting to reject the food but he forced it into his mouth and down his throat after sufficiently chewing it. He cleaned his hands with the napkin and settled it in his lap between his hands. Ben seemed to notice but did not say anything as he, too, slowly ate and picked at his food. There ended up being the ends of the bread left along with most of his fruit, though the caf was gone.

Armitage picked up his head and looked out the window then said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

Ben nodded and began to pick up the plates. “Leave them,” stated Armitage, rising from his own place and stepping around to take Ben’s hand in his own.

The gesture was sudden but certainly not unwelcomed. Ben’s hand tightened around Armitage’s in response and the former general noticed how broad Ben’s hand really was. It was as if it took up much of his own hand. He pressed it firmly and they walked from the ballroom out the front of the property. They did not walk down the drive but instead around the perimeter of the estate much as they had the day before. They walked through the woods but did not go to their spot at the lake’s edge. That place was filled with memories they would not dare tarnish. Not that Armitage nor Ben had the thought to invoke a disagreement or fight. Let this current chapter begin and end on a sunny day; there was no need to add anymore greyness.

Ben had neglected his coat but the sweater did keep him warm. He commented as much and Armitage informed him, with subdued pride, that it was because it was fashioned from the warmest material they had on this planet.

“For a man who never liked this place, you’re certainly proud of it,” Ben commented pointedly.

“I’m not proud, necessarily.”

“Then what?”

Armitage stopped to examine a tree as well as his thoughts. He contemplated what he meant and ran through the file of his memories.

“I don’t know,” came his final, contemplative response. He looked at Ben and how his face was reddening from the cold. “You still haven’t adjusted here, have you?”

“What?” Ben tilted his head back when Armitage touched his face in response. He made the sound of teeth sucking. “Just because my face gets cold? Should see yourself.” As if to prove his point, Ben touched Armitage’s face where the skin was reddened from the cold. His nose, too, was especially red at the tip which could have made him look ill if this were not the normal climate for Arkanis.

Green eyes rolled and the men continued to walk through the woods back to the main part of the property. Armitage’s lungs filled with fresh air and he cast his eyes up at the sky just in time to see a large predatory bird circling overhead. He paused and was inclined to listen for any sounds the bird would make. Ben, too, stopped and stared over their heads to the bird circling. He merely stared while Armitage seemed to be following it intently. It was alone, he mentally noted. Usually the predatory birds around here hunted in pairs. He’d read as much in the books provided by his library. Where was its companion?

He focused in on the weight of Ben’s hand still in his own. It wasn’t as heavy as it might have otherwise felt, thankfully. His lungs filled with fresh air and he pressed his hand against Ben’s, signaling they could keep going.

The air wasn’t as cold in this clear plot of land between the woods and the estate but Armitage could feel his nose and cheeks tingling from the chill. He heard Ben sniff once or twice and assumed his nose was running. They lingered momentarily near the serpentine lake then went to the backdoor where Armitage walked in first then Ben followed. Almost immediately, Armitage took off his jacket and held it over his arm as he waited for Ben to adjust to the warmth of the indoors.

Ben was rubbing his hands and sniffed again then cleared his throat. He gave an affirmed nod and walked down the hall, watching Armitage out of the corner of his eye. The other man seemed settled and sure. Decisions and hard-plays always seemed to come easy to Armitage. It could have been from his upbringing but Ben was more than willing to give Armitage credit for the formation of his own personality and habits.

“I’ll make tea?” Armitage stopped by the kitchen.

Looking to the room, Ben nodded. He was about to stay but made a split-second decision. “Yeah, ah, I’m just going to go upstairs a moment. I’ll meet you in the library.”

It seemed as if Armitage wanted to say something in protest but he did not. He turned to go into the kitchen while Ben continued upstairs. Ben moved past X-3, avoiding a confrontation with the droid and strode to his room. Almost immediately, he stripped off the sweater and pulled on one of the newer, nicer shirts Armitage had bought for him. He buttoned it up and rolled up the sleeves then went to put on his jacket. He smoothed his hand over the jacket, the shirt, then checked himself in the mirror. His face was reddened from the cold but at least he had a bit of color from yesterday. No need for his outside to show how he felt on the inside.

He packed the other shirt as well as the inkwell and ink into his bag and closed it. His attention turned next to the sweater, which was now turned inside out. He fixed it and carefully began to fold it on the bed. His lips twitched upward into a brief, reflective smile.

* * *

Armitage was sitting by the fire with his tea when Ben returned. He finished his sip and picked up Ben’s cup for the other to take as he sat on the couch beside him. Ben’s arm moved around Armitage’s shoulders, which momentarily surprised the former general. He ended up settling beside his companion and felt his entire body relax with another deep inhale of air into his lungs.

“Do you know what you’re going to do after you leave?” He questioned, bringing the cup to his mouth. “Go right into it or make a report?”

Ben noted the discomfort in Armitage’s voice and treaded lightly. He spoke the truth. “I don’t know. Probably go back to Chandrila. Just…tell them my intentions. Rey and I put the galaxy in check and then--” His head shook from side-to-side as he paused with a sip of his own tea. Something lit up the senses on his tongue but Ben went on. “—I’ll tell them that when we’re done, I’m coming back. Did you put sweetner in this?”

“Of course I did. You always complain when I don’t.” Armitage punctuated with tapping on his cup. His nail made a small _dinging_ sound.

“ _You’re_ the one who said I need to ‘change my palatte’,” argued Ben, who was more amazed than genuinely upset.

Armitage’s brows raised and he inspected his tea. “I can be nice to you.” Then he drank from his cup.

Ben bit his tongue. Even if it was all in jest, he didn’t want to argue. He didn’t even want to leave things jokingly tense. He merely made a deep humming sound in his chest and finished his tea. “—Thank you.”

He saw the manner in which Armitage lifted his chin as if he were to nod but did not. Then came the tensing of Armitage’s jaw which was common when the man was upset. What followed was an intake of air through the nose and exhale through the nose. Another deep breathing cycle. Ben didn’t have to peer into Armitage’s mind to see he was trying to keep himself calm and strong.

“You don’t—“

“I know I don’t have to be. I want to be,” Armitage responded. He placed the cup down and turned his head to Ben’s. “Because you won’t go if I’m not.”

“—Are you _really_ going to be okay?”

The crackling of the fire filled the dead space. Ben watched Armitage’s eyes hold back every ounce of emotion and every word that would keep him here. He could practically feel the outburst screaming from the prison of his companion’s chest. Instead of speaking, his hand cupped Hux’s face and his thumb stroked his cheek. Armitage did not lean into the touch but he did not freeze nor pull away. He did not hide himself from Ben’s view, either. His green eyes remained fixed on Ben’s brown ones until he was ready to respond.

“I’ve never felt something like this before,” Armitage replied. “But those who have tell me that…I will be okay. Even on days where I don’t think I will be. Now I must ask you the same question. It’s only fair.”

Because of course he would do that. Ben leaned forward and kissed Armitage gently on the mouth, encouraged by the other man’s hand on his face and the returned kiss. He smiled against Armitage’s mouth and said, “If you’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll probably blubber like a baby, hm?” Armitage asked, earning a reluctant chuckle from Ben. “Weep bitterly into your pillow because no one will fix your tea the way you like it.”

“Are you forgetting I can make my own tea?”

“Yes but I make it the best.” Armitage kissed him once again on the mouth and pulled his head back to get a better look at Ben. “As long as you make it back before I’m old and bound to my bed.”

Ben’s head leaned to the side and he gazed at Armitage. He wondered if the other man could even age. He still looked young with barely a visible wrinkle on his resting face. His brain propelled him into worries and thoughts of a future that may not even happen. Ben brought himself out of it before he would question his decision-making.

“I’ll come back home,” he avowed.

Armitage blinked back the final doubts. “You’ll come back home. In one piece, preferably. No limbs missing.”

“Well,” Ben said with a shrug, “not the important ones. The others I can just--” He made another shrug, earning a deadpanned look from Armitage. Ben cracked a smile to relieve the tension and leaned in to draw his partner in for another long, deeper meaning kiss.

The tea was finished and forgotten. Ben leaned atop Armitage as they kissed with intention that grew with each kiss and touch. Soon enough, Armitage paused and pulled his head back to really look at Ben. He looked almost cross.

“What?” Ben questioned, suddenly concerned. “What is it?”

“—You changed your shirt.” Armitage sat up on his elbow.

Ben looked down at his shirt and took off his jacket to give a better look of it. “Oh, yeah. I wanted to try it on and I like it. Fits well, thank you.”

“You packed the sweater? You’ll need one that doesn’t have holes in it.”

“Yes.”

“Because you need something that actually keeps you comforta—“

“Yes, Armitage,” Ben interrupted, kissing him deeply. That seemed to do the trick because Armitage sharply inhaled in surprise of the overwhelming distraction. His arms locked around Ben to keep him near though other parts of his body were calling for the man to touch. Those parts of him could wait forever; he wanted the burning touch of Ben’s mouth on his to remain as long as it could.

Ben lifted his head to move to the other’s neck and Armitage turned his head to capture his mouth instead. “Just kiss me,” he insisted, pulling Ben in for a longer kiss. He nipped down on the man’s lip and felt him shudder in response. Ben returned the nip to Armitage’s lip and the former general could hear himself thinking, “ _Yes. Leave me with something of you.”_

* * *

Armitage had almost hoped that time had stopped or that this was all a nightmare. Despite all of his thinking and wishing, none of it could change reality. Oh to have that power; how sweet it would actually be to have that power.

But it was not to be. Ben was coming down the stairs with his bag. X-3 was standing by Armitage’s side to bid his short-term master farewell.

“Make sure he eats something, X-3,” Ben said. “And don’t let him go crazy. I’ll know if you do.”

“Goodbye, Master Solo,” X-3 responded. Armitage wondered if the droid was sad Ben was leaving, or if he could even feel this grief.

“Put some more wood on the fire, X-3,” Armitage instructed. “I’ll be a few moments.” Obediently, the droid went away to complete his tasks.

They walked to the door and Ben turned to him. “You need to keep up on the adjustments to him and the other droids. Please don’t undo all my work.”

“You left the plans we made together,” Armitage reminded him, gently pushing Ben toward the door with an encouraging hand to his back. He walked out after Ben and the two went down the drive together, Armitage’s hand on his partner’s back.

Sure enough, Rey was there. They walked to her and met a quarter of the way down the drive. Rey seemed well-rested and not entirely happy nor entirely sad. If anything, there was an aura of understanding and sympathy. This wasn’t easy on any of them but they had to follow through.

“You ready? Everything’s set. Just waiting on you,” Rey greeted gently. She paused and looked at Armitage. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to contact you.”

“That’s fine.” Armitage shook his head in dismissal. “Just do what you need to do.”

Rey nodded and looked at Ben. “Ready when you are.”

This was it, then. Ben ran through his mental checklist; his belongings, his lightsaber, everything. Everything he needed to bring with him. Now came the moment he was dreading.

He faced Armitage and felt himself drastically hesitating. His eyes lowered and avoided looking at the other man and his found he was tripping over the words he wanted to say; the things he wanted to do but couldn’t. Emotion was welling in his heart up to his throat and eyes. He felt them reddening and welling up as he tried to select the correct thing to say to the man he was ready to give his entire life for.

“--- _Thank you_.”

Armitage was surprised by the choice of words but he said nothing to the contrary. He merely nodded and looked at Ben as if there was one final thing to go over. His eyes inspected Ben’s jacket, his holster where his saber was clasped, his shirt and bag.

Then he looked at the man he loved in the face and said, “I love you.”

Ben’s eyes automatically blinked and he looked at his shoes to gather himself. Armitage felt his own dam about to burst but he swallowed it down. _Be strong, be strong. Be brave and be strong._

Armitage stepped forward and kissed Ben soundly on the mouth, fueling it with all the love he felt in his heart and his spirit. He brought Ben’s hands to his chest and clasped them there as they kissed. When it was finished, he leaned his head against the other man’s and nodded. “Remember to come home,” he told Ben. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” Ben responded, equally quiet and emotional in his words. “I _will_.”

Armitage’s chilled hand reached to wipe Ben’s face then settle on his shoulders. He searched Ben’s face to see his resolve and nodded. “Go.”

He didn’t take his eyes off Ben once; not when Ben reluctantly stepped away nor when he finally turned his head to look at the road he was walking down. Rey held Armitage’s strong gaze and nodded at him before she too turned and walked with Ben down the rest of the drive. Armitage stood and watched them go, not moving until they disappeared from view and out of his life.

* * *

When he returned into the estate, something was missing. Something large and gaping was missing. Armitage ignored it until he went up to his room. His limbs felt heavy. He felt drained. He wanted to sleep. Sleep would be fine.

But as he stripped off his shoes and his jacket and walked over to the bed, he saw something dark blue laying folded on his bed.

_Goddamn idiot._

His fingers moved over the material. _Does he not know how much money I spent on this? To leave it here?_

His fingers slowly curled around the material and he lifted the sweater to look at it fully, letting it unfold in his hands. His watering eyes recalled the first and last time he’d seen it worn; only hours ago. Only hours ago had Ben been here, wearing this. Only minutes ago he’d been kissing him goodbye. Now, he was gone.

Armitage’s brain didn’t register the sweater was on his body until he pulled it on and laid on the bed. His eyes closed and he drew his knees into his chest as he settled against the bedding. As he shut them, he finally released the tears and the grief he’d been holding back for the entire day.

He let himself mourn and then resolved to pick himself back up in the morning. Perhaps he’d accept Maris’s invitation and visit his family. Perhaps he’d take a walk back to the lakeside. Perhaps he’d sit and stare out across the expanse of water, thinking of the only person who’d truly brought him so much joy and love in a life where love had been lacking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo yeah, come yell at me here:
> 
> tumblr: sehn----sucht.tumblr.com


End file.
